The Incredible Story of Molly Eyre
by Robin Janette
Summary: Molly Eyre becomes the governess of the ward of a gentleman named Sherlock Holmes. Can Molly find happiness in Thornfield Hall, Mr. Holmes' home away from London? Time will tell. 1800s Sherlolly romance told through the rough story of Jane Eyre, with Molly as Jane Eyre, Sherlock as Mr. Rochester, and more characters to be incorporated later. Rated T just to be on the safe side.
1. Chapter 1

**I've decided to write a Sherlolly story roughly following the framework and setting of ****_Jane Eyre_****. This should be fun!**

**Disclaimer: I own neither the characters from Sherlock nor _Jane Eyre._**

* * *

Molly Eyre was a strange creature; everybody thought so. With her pale skin and large brown eyes, as well as a slight frame, she bore a certain resemblance to a ghost or a fairy, and her dark past added to her mystique.

Molly passed by two of her young students as she made her way down the corridor of St. Bart's Institution, a school for orphaned girls. The pair giggled and huddled together. One of them, named Beth, said to her friend Jeanette, "Did you hear? Miss Eyre's leaving Bart's."

Jeanette looked shocked. "Leaving Bart's? What for?"

"I heard she got a post as a governess somewhere."

Beth and Jeanette climbed some stairs up to their dormitory. Bessie said, "I'll be glad when she's gone. She's so odd."

"I know. All she does is read books and teach French. She hasn't got many friends, certainly."

They pulled open the heavy oak door to their dormitory and sat down on their beds. Jeanette said conspiratorially, "Have you seen the books she reads? They're all anatomy books. She wants to be a physician, but no university will take her because she's a woman and she doesn't have enough money to afford it."

Beth replied, "My aunt knows her aunt, and I've heard stories about her as a child. She got in trouble several times for her temper and fighting her cousins."

"But she's so quiet and gentle! I don't believe that."

Beth shrugged. "She attended St. Bart's in the old days when the children were beaten and nearly starved. I guess that took care of her temper."

"And she looks so strange. I keep expecting her to cast a spell on someone one of these days."

"We won't have to worry about that for much longer."

* * *

Molly began to pack her few possessions as she would be leaving St. Bart's for Thornfield Hall that evening. St. Bart's had been the only home she had really known, as Mrs. Hooper, her aunt and guardian, had made it abundantly clear to her that Molly was not welcome in their house. Orphaned as a young child, she had been put into the care of her aunt and uncle. Her uncle had treated her as an equal with his other three children, but died soon after, and Mrs. Hooper was then free to humiliate Molly without fear of reproach.

Her cousins had also treated Molly badly, as Georgiana and Eliza had ignored her, and her cousin John tormented her, and blamed their fights on her, even though John always started it and hit her on a regular basis.

Molly had been excited to go away to school at ten, but even that had been a disappointment as Mrs. Hooper had insinuated that she was a deceitful child and a liar, and had endured miserable cold, nearly inedible food, and thin clothing at St. Bart's before an epidemic of typhus had decimated the school and brought the orphan children's living conditions to public attention. Since then, St. Bart's had relocated to a healthier location and much improved. Molly grew up and graduated within its walls. She now worked as a teacher, fluent in French and giving drawing lessons to the oldest girls. But she had meant for that to only be temporary. After she graduated, Molly had wanted to go to a university to become a physician, but none of the schools to which she applied had accepted her, both because she was female and she did not have enough money to attend without a scholarship.

Molly paused in her packing as she lifted one of her drawings. It was of Helen, the best friend she had ever had, and the reason she had wanted to become a physician. Helen had gotten her through her first few months at St. Bart's, and her calm demeanor and patience had helped Molly cool her temper when she tried to protest the conditions at the school.

At the height of the typhus epidemic, Helen too had been dying, but of consumption instead of typhus. Molly had watched over her as Helen grew worse and worse, and Helen's death had sparked her own interest in medicine. What joy she would have if she were to find a cure for consumption or typhus, or any of the other diseases that stole loved ones away! But no one would take her.

Molly had finally decided, after four years as a teacher at Bart's, that she ought to pursue her own fortunes and go her own way. She feared becoming trapped there, a teacher for the rest of her life, never knowing anything outside its walls. So she had put out inquiries in the newspaper, and been hired by a Mrs. Hudson at Thornfield Hall, as a governess to a child named Adele.

Molly gathered together the rest of her portfolio of drawings as well as her small drawing kit and placed them flat in her suitcase, with her frocks to cushion them in transit. Molly placed her few books on top, full of anatomical drawings and medical knowledge. Her suitcase now full, Molly drug it from its place on her bed to the door, and was just about to open the door on her new life when a knock came at her door. A servant girl, scarcely younger than her own twenty years, poked her head in and said, "Miss Eyre, there is a guest here to see you."

Molly smiled and said, "Thank you, Anna, I'll be right down."

Molly grabbed her heavy bag and walked out of the little room, and without a backward glance, walked down the corridor and down the stairs, where she was met by a woman who looked strangely familiar.

"Molly!" The woman closed the few steps between them and embraced Molly, who dropped her suitcase at her feet.

"Bessie? Can it be you?"

"Yes, Miss Molly!" Both women took hands and went into the parlor, where a small boy, Bessie's son, was standing by the fire. He soon ran over to Bessie and clutched at her skirts. "Here's my fine young son. His little sister, Molly, is at home with my husband. We were married five years ago."

"How wonderful! I'm glad you have been well." Bessie was Molly's only friend at Gateshead with the Hoopers, a servant who cared for Molly quite a lot, even if she had a quick temper. Molly had never known a better story teller than Bessie.

Bessie and Molly took a seat on one of the couches in the parlor, and Bessie said, "I heard you were leaving for another situation, and I hurried right down to see you before you went too far away."

"Did Mrs. Hooper send you?"

"No, I daresay not. The Hoopers have changed much since you left."

"How have they been?"

"Eliza and Georgiana have grown, and Georgiana has become a great beauty. But John's not been doing too well. He went off to university, but he was removed for his behavior, and he's studying law right now because one of his uncles is a judge. Mrs. Hooper worries about him constantly, and he spends a great deal of her money."

Molly felt no sympathy for either John or his mother, as John Hooper had tormented her as a child, but she was a bit envious of John for being able to go to university. She said, "That's too bad about John. Georgiana was always such a pretty child." Molly had often wondered if she would have been better received if she had been a beautiful child.

"Yes, she was." Bessie glanced around the room, noticing the piano in the corner, and entreated Molly to play. Molly played a few songs, and Bessie praised her for it. Molly also showed her some of her drawings and paintings, one of which hung in the parlor, and Bessie fawned over them all, saying, "I always knew you would do better than Eliza and Georgiana. They can't paint/draw/play half as good as you!"

Molly felt rather smug that she, attending a charity school for orphans, had applied herself and surpassed her favored cousins. After a few more minutes, Bessie departed, and Molly was left alone in the parlor with her thoughts and her suitcase.


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh. My. Goodness. I did not expect so many follows and reviews for the first chapter! I'm really excited about this, and I'm glad you guys like it so far. Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

* * *

Molly bumped along in a carriage conveying her to Millcoat, the town closest to Thornfield Hall. She had been instructed by Mrs. Hudson to ride to the town and wait for one of the servants to come and retrieve her. The journey was long, and she would be arriving the next day after staying the night at an inn midway between St. Bart's and her destination.

Molly couldn't help but consider that if she were born a boy, or had been a more beautiful or amicable child, she might have been better off. Perhaps even able to achieve her dreams of becoming a doctor. But those thoughts were driven from her head as the carriage fell into a rut and Molly was jolted from her reverie. It did her no good to dwell on the past, or things that could have been. No good at all. So Molly endeavored to think of her present and near future instead.

Molly imagined Mrs. Hudson as an elderly woman with graying hair and a stately manner. Molly hoped she would be a kind mistress, maybe even friendly. Thornfield Hall was a remote place, and Molly would have few acquaintances there other than those at the Hall.

Mrs. Hudson had told Molly that Adele was just 11 years old. Molly also hoped that Adele would be an earnest pupil, willing to be taught. Molly was used to handling children, but she enjoyed her work the most when her students respected her and obeyed her.

Such thoughts occupied Molly as she and her four fellow passengers rode on.

* * *

When the carriage finally arrived, the driver opened the door and the five weary travelers tumbled out. Molly was exhausted. The driver handed down her bag, and she carried it to a nearby inn, where she purchased a small pie to eat while she waited for her carriage to arrive. Molly had but 10 shillings to her name, after paying the carriage fare, and she would be glad when she would have a bit more than that.

Soon, an old man drove up, and said to her, "Are you Molly Eyre?"

"I am, sir."

"I've come from Thornfield to fetch you." He climbed down, took her bag and put it on the back, and helped her up. They drove down a winding forest lane, and golden grain fields could be seen in between the trees. Molly asked the old man, whose name was Tom, how far they were from Thornfield.

"Just two miles, miss." They sat in silence for most of the rest of the trip, as Molly was rather shy among people she didn't know, and she couldn't think of anything to say.

Soon the trees parted, and she and Tom rode up to a tall iron gate supported by stone walls. Through the gate, Molly got her first glimpse of Thornfield Hall. The Hall was an old mansion, stately and forlorn. Molly could see a few gardens and a large orchard around the property, and it looked like a nice enough place. Tom led the horse up the gravel drive and helped Molly and her bag down. He then drove off to the adjacent stable.

Molly faced the broad oak door and knocked. A woman opened the door, and asked, "Molly Eyre? Do come in." Molly took her bag inside the imposing building, and stepped foot into the entryway.

"Hello." Molly looked around at the interior of Thornfield. The furnishings were fine, and fresh arrangements of flowers were placed about the long hallway. Thornfield was even more sumptuous than Gateshead had been, and Molly was just a bit intimidated. St. Bart's had been extremely plain and utilitarian, and the trappings of wealth seemed strange to Molly now. She could only think of how inadequate her wardrobe was; all of her frocks were very plain. She hoped she would be acceptable to Mrs. Hudson.

Just then, an old woman descended the central staircase with a kind smile on her face. "You've arrived! Welcome to Thornfield Hall, Miss Eyre. I do hope you will be happy here." She reached the bottom of the stairs and shook Molly's hand. Molly knew that with such a pleasant mistress, she should be alright. Mrs. Hudson turned to the servant woman who opened the door and said, "Leah, would you please show Miss Eyre to her room? You can meet Adele once you've unpacked. You must be tired."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Leah beckoned Molly up the staircase, and several doors down, Leah opened the door to Molly's bedroom. Leah pointed to the door to the right of Molly's.

"That's the nursery, where the school-books are for Adele. Do you need anything else, Miss?"

"No, thank you, Leah." Molly walked into her room. It was larger than her bedroom at St. Bart's, but not ridiculously so. Molly set her suitcase on the low table by the bed, and took out her books. She put them on the top of her bedside table for further perusal. Molly opened the door of the large wardrobe and put her few dresses in it. They looked quite small in there. Molly tried to push those thoughts from her mind as she took out her portfolio of drawings and paintings and her box of paints, paper, and pens. She put those on top of her dressing table. Her suitcase was soon emptied and stowed in the ample wardrobe. Her unpacking done, Molly went to the wash-stand and poured out some cool water into the basin. She washed the dirt and grime from her face and hands, and soon felt much better for it.

Molly took a second to sit on the edge of the bed and thank God for her good fortune before exiting her room and walking down the stairs. Molly looked around for a servant to ask where Mrs. Hudson was when she heard the old woman call from a room farther down the hall. "I'm in the drawing room, dear." Molly followed the sound to a room with large bookshelves stuffed with books, several chairs by a large fire, and a piano in the corner. Mrs. Hudson was knitting by the fire. "How do you like your room, Molly? May I call you Molly? I do detest unnecessary formalities."

"It's perfect, Mrs. Hudson. And you can call whatever you wish."

"Lovely! Your room isn't the best of the guest rooms, but as it was next to the nursery and schoolroom, I thought it would be most convenient."

"It is. You have a very lovely home."

Mrs. Hudson laughed. "It's not my home, Molly! I'm simply the housekeeper. The master of Thornfield is often away, but Mr. Sherlock Holmes owns this house. His primary residence is in London."

"Oh! I'm sorry I assumed," Molly began, but Mrs. Hudson interrupted.

"No, I didn't mention him, and it must have been natural to assume I was the owner of Thornfield."

Molly felt a bit more relaxed knowing that Mrs. Hudson was just like her, an fellow employee of Mr. Holmes. Just then, Molly heard the sound of running footsteps coming down the stairs and in the hallway. A petty little girl with long brown curls burst through the door. She started to speak, and a torrent of chatter in French came out of her mouth. Mrs. Hudson said, "This is your pupil, Adele. She is French, and I can't understand hardly anything she says. I assumed it would be alright since your advertisement said you were fluent in French."

"I believe it will be alright, Mrs. Hudson." Molly turned to Adele and said to her in French, "How do you do, Adele?"

She squealed and replied, "Very well, thank you. You speak French too! My nurse Sophia and I have been lonely since no one can understand us."

Having taught French at St. Bart's, and learning from a fast speaker, Molly could easily understand Adele. Molly felt she could do much for the child.

Mrs. Hudson said, "Mr. Holmes requested that I hire a governess for Adele to teach her English, as well as arithmetic, geography, and a touch of the sciences. I believe you will do admirably." Mrs. Hudson smiled and Molly and Adele, the latter of which was already tugging on Molly's arm to show her the nursery and schoolroom.

Molly smiled back. Perhaps she had found the place where she belonged at last.

* * *

Molly and Adele spent about an hour in the schoolroom, and Molly found the textbooks and materials quite satisfactory. Adele was a happy child, and Molly liked her very much. She also met Sophia, Adele's nurse, and she was a nice, if a bit dull, individual. As Molly and Adele went down the stairs for dinner, a woman was coming down as well, not dressed quite as a servant, but not well-to-do either. She looked to be in her late 20's with relatively short blond hair. She smiled at the two of them, and said, "You must be the governess they hired for Adele."

"I am. I'm Molly, what's your name?"

"Mary Morstan." Adele led Molly into the dining room where Mrs. Hudson was waiting for them and tugged her hand. Mary paused, and said, "I always take my dinners upstairs. Goodbye, Molly."

"Goodbye." Mary opened a door and went down another staircase, probably to the kitchens. Molly and Adele seated themselves beside Mrs. Hudson for dinner, and the food and company were both very good.

After dinner, Adele bought down some of her dolls and played by the fire as Mrs. Hudson and Molly sat and talked. Late in the evening, Molly got up to examine the books in the bookshelf. She had practically devoured most of the books at Bart's, and she was curious to see what was in the collection. She peered through the glass. The books all had strange titles, like _The Encyclopedia of Beast-Inflicted Wounds_ and _Famous Murders of the Eighteenth Century_. Molly saw many others that were medical texts, and a good portion of the them were enormous encyclopedias. The medical texts interested Molly, as she had practically memorized hers from reading them over and over again. Molly turned to face Mrs. Hudson. "Do you think Mr. Holmes would mind terribly if I read some of his books?"_  
_

Mrs. Hudson looked at her quizzically. "I don't think he would mind, but why would you want to? Most of them are full of strange events and happenings, and unfit for a young woman such as yourself."

"Some of them look interesting."

Mrs. Hudson took out a large key ring and took off one of the many keys. "This will open most of the bookshelves in the house. There are others in the parlor as well. Mr. Holmes has a strange taste in most everything."

"I gathered that from his library."

"Mr. Holmes consults as a detective in London, and has become quite well known. He is good at whatever he does, and has defeated many criminals." Mrs. Hudson resumed her knitting as she continued, "Thornfield is not the ancestral home of the Holmes family, that belongs to Mycroft Holmes, Mr. Sherlock's older brother. The family acquired this property just two generations ago by marriage."

"How interesting." Molly unlocked one of the cabinets, and took out one of the medical volumes that had attracted her eye. She tried to give the key back to Mrs. Hudson, but she told Molly that she might as well keep it, as she might want to peruse some of the other volumes. She also directed Molly to Mr. Holmes' small collection of fiction works, but they held little interest for Molly. As it was growing late, Molly excused herself, and she and Adele went upstairs to bed. After telling Adele bonne nuit, Molly undressed and tucked into her bed. Today had been interesting, and Thornfield was beginning to feel like home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to all the lovely reviews! You guys are so nice. **

**And now for the moment you have all been waiting for...**

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Molly adapted well to the routines of Thornfield Hall. In the mornings, Molly ate breakfast with Mrs. Hudson, then went up to the schoolroom to teach Adele for several hours. They then had lunch, went outside on nice days for walks, and then resumed her studies for another hour or two. Adele still had her evenings free to do as she wished, and sometimes Mrs. Hudson and Molly talked by the fire.

Molly found Adele to be much brighter than she had first thought. Adele knew many English words, but teaching her grammar and proper pronunciation was more of a challenge. Because Adele had not been given much formal instruction, Mrs. Hudson and several of the others at Thornfield had assumed that Adele was not smart. However, under Molly's care, Adele began to blossom into a highly intelligent young girl, and as her English improved, Mrs. Hudson looked on Molly with admiration.

Molly heartily enjoyed her time with Adele, but she adored Mr. Holmes' vast and fascinating library. Molly would often read late into the night, and it gave her great joy to sharpen her mind. She was still unsure what she wanted to do with her life, but she considered working as a nurse or even trying again to become a physician. Mrs. Hudson considered her "morbid attraction" to those books an eccentricity, but did not try to dissuade her from them, for which Molly was quite grateful.

Thornfield itself was an interesting place to live, and Molly and Adele loved to explore the house and grounds together. The apple orchard was just beginning to ripen, and late summer was passing quickly. Molly's favorite spot was an old gnarled tree at the border between the gardens and the orchard that was shaped just like a bench. Adele had showed the strange tree to her on one of their walks, and it was a nice, sheltered place to sit and talk or read. Molly liked it not because it was beautiful, but because she felt hidden and safe there.

And so, three months passed, and the November cold meant that Adele and Molly stayed inside most of the time. The snow had not yet fallen, but the wintry air and frost gave the surrounding area a desolate look. As she was inside for more of the day, Molly began to hear strange things. Sometimes, when she was in the hall, Molly could hear the sound of laughter. It was a laugh that chilled Molly to the bone, with a haunting cadence and a mania that seemed to Molly to only have come from one totally insane.

The first time, Molly had thought she had imagined it, but she was convinced something was wrong when she heard it for a second time. She asked Mrs. Hudson, "I have heard an odd laugh. Do you know who made it?"

"I don't know, dear. The old house makes many strange noises; it could have been that."

"No, I'm positive it was a human who made that sound."

Mrs. Hudson looked away and said, "It could have been Mary Morstan. She's a odd one, and keeps to herself. Don't trouble yourself, Molly. I'm sure it was nothing." She then left the room.

Molly could not make up her mind about Mary. Every time Molly saw her, she looked perfectly friendly and sane, but given what Mrs. Hudson said, Molly felt she could not trust her. One day, Molly was sitting alone in the drawing room when two of the servants passed by in the hall.

Leah said to Rebecca, "You know, she's paid twice as much as I am every year. Who knows what for."

"Yeah, and some of the noises coming from up there? They sound barely human."

Molly listened intently, lest either of the two women know she was eavesdropping. "I keep well away from her. I don't want to get involved in that."

The two women moved out of earshot, and so Molly heard no more of their conversation.

As a general rule, Molly tried to think the best of everyone, but Mary Morstan pushed that philosophy to the limit. Molly could not reconcile the laugh with the seemingly calm and gentle Mary. Molly did her best to not think about it, as that did little good, and she wasn't likely to find out the truth anytime soon.

Molly also thought the master of Thornfield must surely be a strange man. Mr. Holmes solved crimes in London, and visited his house in the country once in a blue moon. Mrs. Hudson spoke of him fondly, as she had known him from boyhood, but he had many strange habits and requests. He had Mrs. Hudson keep the house in a constant state of readiness for his returns. All parts of the house were regularly cleaned and dusted, he hated dirty houses. Finally, Mr. Holmes would often stay up half the night, and one of the smaller rooms downstairs had been converted into a small laboratory that remained locked at all times. Molly was rather afraid to meet him because of his oddities, but hoped he would approve of her.

* * *

One day in Mid November, a letter needed to be delivered, but Tom, who usually rode to Millcoat for such things, was laid up with rheumatism, and could not hitch up the horses. Molly volunteered to walk there and deliver the letter.

Molly set out after lunch on foot, as she had never been taught how to ride and was rather wary of horses in general, and expected to be back in a few hours. It was a cold day, but as her cloak was thick and warm and the wind wasn't blowing, Molly was content.

After about a mile, Molly skirted a patch of ice and sat down on a small boulder to rest a few minutes before going on. At that particular point, there were a cluster of tangled trees that Molly thought would be beautiful when covered in green leaves. Two of the trees had grown so close together that their branches had wrapped around each other. Molly wondered if they could ever be separated from such a vice-like grip. She reached into a pocket and drew out a scrap of paper and a pencil and wrote herself a note so she would remember the grove in spring. She returned the note and pencil to her pocket and drew her cloak closer as she considered the trees for a drawing.

Just as she was about to get up and continue on her way, Molly heard the howl of a wolf or a dog, and she remained frozen on the boulder. Bessie had told her stories of a great hound that ate up naughty little girls who strayed far from home. While Molly rationally knew that it was simply a story and there were no hounds about to eat her, she could not will her legs to move. Molly then heard the sound of a horse galloping, and she decided to wait until the stranger passed. She heard the horse and dog coming closer, coming toward her from Millcoat, and clutched at her long black cloak.

A large brown dog came into view, followed by a tall figure on a great black horse. The man turned his head to look at her and did not to see the patch of ice, and just as Molly was about to cry out in warning, the black horse hit the ice and threw the rider, who landed on the cold, hard ground with a thud.

Molly jumped up and ran over to the man. A stream of unfamiliar words was coming out of his mouth, and Molly guessed they were curses. She said, "Sir, are you alright?"

The dog ran to her and circled her, barking and jumping, and Molly froze again. The man raised his head and brushed black curls from his face and growled, "Down, Baskerville!" as he sat up. The dog retreated from Molly and came to his master's side. The man looked Molly in the eye. He was lean, with a face that was not traditionally handsome, but Molly thought was quite fine. His eyes were ice blue, and they seemed to peer into her very soul. "Had I known a ghost would haunt me on the road, I wouldn't have come. You are pale as an apparition and somber enough."

"Sir, I did nothing to-"

He cut her off. "Get my horse, would you?"

Molly took a few steps toward the horse, but it reared up a her and she cringed away in fear. The man sighed and said, "Evidently not. Help me up." Molly lent the man her shoulder and helped to stand, but with a sharp cry, his right ankle gave out and she helped him onto the boulder she had been sitting on. "I've got a sprain."

"Let me see, I've dealt with them before." Molly had had to help several crying girls who had sprained their ankles at Bart's. She knelt and took off his boot, feeling around the ankle for the sprain. The man hissed as she hit a tender spot. "You ankle is sprained indeed. Do you want me to go to Thornfield Hall? They can call for a doctor-"

"No, that won't be necessary, Miss,"

"Eyre. Molly Eyre, sir."

The man fixed his eyes on her and looked for something in her face for a second before putting on his boot again. "What are you doing on the road?"

"Delivering a letter to Millcoat."

"Where do you live?"

"I live at Thornfield Hall."

"What do you do there?"

"I'm the governess of Mr. Holmes' ward."

"Have you met Mr. Holmes?"

"No, sir, I have not even seen his portrait."

The man sat in thought for a minute before saying, "Lend me your shoulder again, Miss Eyre. If you will just help me onto my horse, I should be fine."

"Alright." She stood, and he leaned on her like a crutch as he limped toward his horse. He managed to get a hold of the reins, and Molly helped him mount the horse.

He adjusted his grip and turned the horse in the right direction. "Thank you for your assistance, Miss Eyre."

"Certainly, sir." The man rode off, and Molly continued on her way to Millcoat.

A little over an hour later, Molly was just coming back from Millcoat when she saw the black horse tied outside the house and Baskerville sitting near the front door. Molly went in the side entrance and saw the servants all in a bustle. She draped her cloak over one arm and asked, "What's going on?"

Rebecca paused for a minute to say, "Master Holmes has come back, Miss Eyre," before going out.

Molly went upstairs and put her cloak in her closet before Adele burst in. "Sherlock has come! Sherlock has come!"

Sophia followed her and said in French, "I simply cannot get her to calm down!"

Adele spoke in her native language as well, as she was wont to do when she was excited. "He always brings me a present! I want to see him!"

Molly replied, "Wait until you are called, Adele."

Adele insisted on changing into another dress, and Molly helped her with her hair. Just as Molly and Sophia got Adele under control, Mrs. Hudson poked her head in the door and asked, "Molly, do you have any nicer frocks?"

Molly looked down at her black, rather shabby frock, and back up at Mrs. Hudson. "I have one."

"I would change, dear. Mr. Holmes has requested your presence after dinner."

Sophia went downstairs to fetch them some dinner while Molly went to change. She had a slightly prettier dress she had made to wear to a wedding that would do nicely. She put that on and looked in the mirror. The grey of the dress complemented her skin. Molly rebraided her hair as well, and by the time she was done, she looked quite nice, if still plain and pale. Sophia knocked after bringing up some cold chicken. Adele chattered all through dinner, but it did little to assuage Molly's nerves. The man on the road must have been Mr. Holmes. That was the only explanation.

About half an hour later, Leah came up to the schoolroom and said, "Mr. Holmes sent me to fetch you and Adele, Miss Eyre. He is in the drawing room."

Molly took Adele's hand, descended the stairs, and held her breath as she entered the drawing room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! DFTBA!**

* * *

Adele yanked her hand out of Molly's and ran to an old wooden box sitting on a table. She cried out, "My gift! My gift!"

Mr. Holmes sat in a chair by the fire, and his wrapped foot and ankle was propped on a footstool. Mrs. Hudson knitted in another chair. As Adele lifted the box off the table, he said, "Yes, there is your gift. Open it quietly, as I have had a long and trying day and have little patience for your prattle tonight." Without another word, Adele retreated to a corner to open her box.

Molly had been standing awkwardly in the doorway, and Mr. Holmes turned halfway in his chair to look at her. "Do come in, Miss Eyre. I daresay you look more substantial than you did earlier today." He gestured to a chair across from him, and Molly sat down.

Mrs. Hudson looked up from her knitting but didn't say anything.

Molly looked at Mr. Holmes and replied, "I feel no more substantial, nor any less."

Adele let out a squeal of delight and cried, "A doll! It's beautiful, Sherlock!" She ran over to his chair and wrapped her arms around him. He looked rather surprised, and awkwardly patted her back before she ran away to play with her china doll.

Molly decided to change the subject. "Adele's been progressing nicely in her studies. While her grammar still needs work, she has a decent vocabulary in English. She has also done well in arithmetic and the natural sciences."

"That's all well and good. Mrs. Hudson has not been shy to tell me of Adele's progress."

Mrs. Hudson glanced up and said, "Molly's done so well with Adele. I never dreamed she'd be so clever when I hired her."

Molly smiled and blushed, "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

Mr. Holmes shifted in his chair, and once again Molly felt the weight of his gaze that seemed to pierce right through her skin. He considered her for a minute before saying, "By the plainness of your dress and the way to have taught Adele, it seems obvious that you came from a school at which you were both a student and a teacher. You are used to plainness and neatness, and such values were instilled at a young age."

"Yes, I was at St. Bart's for ten years, six as a student and four as a teacher."

"Was it a charity institution? Your attire earlier today was very plain, and even that, your best dress, is simple by current standards."

"Yes, I am an orphan, but I did not need charity of strangers."

He cocked his head to one side. "You had distant relatives who did not want to deal with you."

"Precisely, sir. My aunt cared for me as a child, but she thought me a burden, and was very harsh and cruel towards me. I was glad to be rid of her, for I called out her cruelty to her face, and we have not talked since I left for school."

"Interesting. But it is one of my most treasured beliefs that everyone has secrets and passions, and you are no exception. Adele is the love-child between a criminal mastermind and a French dancer; Mrs. Hudson ran an opium den in London."

Mrs. Hudson tittered and didn't even look up from her knitting as she said, "It was my husband's opium den. I just handled the finances."

He gestured towards the bookshelves. "You have been devouring my library, and I am curious why a quaint little governess would so enjoy my collection."

Molly looked down at her hands. "I asked Mrs. Hudson if I might read some of them, and she lent me a key. If you want me to give it up, I would be-"

Mr. Holmes interrupted her. "No, I did not request you to stop. I simply wish to know why."

"Sir, I-"

He cut her off a second time. "Please, for the love of all that is holy, call me Sherlock. I do detest formalities and titles."

Molly took a deep breath and decided to spill the beans. "Sherlock, after finishing Bart's, I wished to become a physician."

"A physician? Why would you want to do that?"

"I enjoy helping people, and I find anatomy to be a fascinating science. I applied to several universities, but none of them would accept me."

"It was rather ambitious for you to do such a thing. I'm impressed." Sherlock glanced at her hands, on which several ink stains contrasted sharply with the paleness of her skin. "Do you draw?"

"Yes, and paint as well."

"I wondered why you were studying the trees so intently. Would you allow me to view your portfolio?"

"Certainly, sir." Molly went upstairs to retrieve her folder. As she came back in the room, Sherlock reached out for the folder and took out several of the watercolors and drawings. Molly did not often show people her art, but didn't want to disappoint. Mrs. Hudson set her knitting down in her lap and leaned over to look as well. Sherlock flipped through the landscapes and still life drawings rather quickly, but paused for the few portraits Molly had done, including the one of Helen.

Mrs. Hudson said, "Molly is full of surprises, isn't she?"

Sherlock was still studying a painting as he replied, "She is indeed. Your technique is quite good, and your choice of subjects is interesting." He took one drawing out of the portfolio and turned it so Molly could see it. It was the drawing of Helen. "Who is this?"

"Helen. She was my schoolmate at Bart's." Molly tried to stay composed, but she felt like this man would ferret all of her secrets and fears and desires right in front of her.

"Why did you choose to draw her? She is obviously important to you, but given the use of the past tense when speaking of her, she is no longer at St. Bart's. I would guess she went home or somewhere you can't follow or see her again, which is why the portrait has more mistakes than the others in your portfolio, as you were emotional when you drew this."

Molly refused to cry in front of Sherlock, even though her eyes were brimming with tears. "Helen died nearly nine years ago from consumption. She was, and is, the closest friend I have ever had, and one of main reasons why I want to become a doctor. So I can save people like Helen from dying prematurely from disease." Mrs. Hudson shot Molly a sympathetic glance.

Sherlock looked up from the drawing to Molly, who dabbed at her eyes and sniffed. After a second, he said, "I have often been told that I am inconsiderate to the feelings of others. I realize I hit a nerve, and so I apologize." He handed back the portrait of Helen and the rest of Molly's portfolio. Molly put Helen in the front, and hugged the folder to her chest. "However, there is a saying that turnabout is fair play, so I will allow you to deduce me."

"Deduce you?"

"Yes. I just deduced you and your desire to become a physician, and observation and deduction are highly important in my line of work."

"But I've just met you!"

"I barely knew your name before I met you. You've lived in my house for over three months. You must have made some inference about me."

Molly was silent for a few minutes as she thought of the best thing she could come up with. At last she struck upon an idea. "You don't like Thornfield."

Sherlock leaned back in his chair. "I had wanted you to go deeper, but why do you say that?"

"You're absent from Thornfield Hall most of the time, and rarely stay for more than a week at a time."

"That's true, but I do have work in London that I cannot perform here in the country. That could be the reason why I stay away."

"However, the furnishings are at least 20 years old. They aren't damaged, but they of the same style of the furniture at Gateshead, where I lived with my aunt a decade ago, and their furniture was about that old. You don't invest a lot of money into the place, and choose to house Adele here instead of London."

"Then why don't I close up the house and sell it? If I don't particularly have an affinity for Thornfield, then why do I pay for its maintenance?"

Molly had to think for a minute. "Mrs. Hudson has told me that the Holmes family only acquired Thornfield a generation or two ago, and that it holds little emotional value to the family. However, it is convenient to have a house in the country with room for guests. You keep Thornfield for social reasons, but you don't like coming here." Molly was silent after she finished her deduction, and looked down at her folded hands.

Sherlock cleared his throat and said, "You are right for the most part. I keep Thornfield because it does have room for company, if I have no choice but to entertain. Adele stays here because I have no great love for children. And Mrs. Hudson gets steady employment here as housekeeper. My brother refuses to let Thornfield fall out of Holmes hands, and while I would love to vex my brother, selling Thornfield would be a mistake. I hold little love for Thornfield, and only come when there is urgent business here."

Molly looked at the grandfather clock at the mantle. It was growing late, and Molly wished to go to bed. She saw Adele yawn and went over to her. "I think it's time for Adele to go to bed. I'm growing tired as well."

Adele got up and went over to Sherlock. She placed a kiss on his cheek and said, "Good night, Sherlock." He patted her on the head and gave her a genuine smile as he said, "Good night, Adele. Sleep well."

Molly took up her portfolio and they left the room together, leaving Mrs. Hudson knitting and Sherlock brooding by the fire. Once upstairs, Sophia took Adele to ready her for bed, leaving Molly alone as she entered her room, put her portfolio on the nightstand on top of her books, and undressed for bed. The master of Thornfield may be strange and eccentric, but Molly thought she had made a good impression.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock stayed at Thornfield for a week, but only one day was devoted to the reason he came there. Some of the farmers of the surrounding land were disputing over the ownership of a small forest, and Sherlock had been called down to help negotiate between them. However, with that done, Sherlock was free to take cases. Because he only came to Thornfield very infrequently, people saved up their mysteries for his return, and Sherlock would sit in the parlor and take their usually small-scale cases. Molly witnessed over a hundred people walk in and out of Thornfield over the last five days of Sherlock's stay.

Without fail, Sherlock requested Molly's presence after dinner each night, and Molly never refused. Sherlock would sometimes talk about his cases with Molly, and she thought it was all very interesting. Sherlock was brilliant, and much more clever than she'd ever be. Despite the inequality of their stations and the fact that Molly was his employee, Sherlock seemed to enjoy Molly's company, and value the few times she gave her input.

However, the strange laugh did not go away just because the master of Thornfield had come. In fact, the second night Sherlock spent at Thornfield, Molly couldn't get to sleep, and chose to sit up with a candle reading. Around midnight, Molly heard the strange laugh again, but it was different this time: the laugh was not coming from a room above, like it normally did. The laugh was coming from the hallway.

Molly said, very quietly, "Who's there?" She slid out of bed and onto the soft rug as she heard the sound of a door opening and closing. Gooseflesh rose on her arms, and she took her candle to the door. She peeked through the keyhole, and again heard the sound of the door as a dark figure left the room directly across from hers. Sherlock's bedroom. It was holding a candle, which illuminated dark, matted hair and torn and dirty clothes for a split second before the candle was blown out. As the figure retreated with another laugh, Molly heard the sound of something crackling and burning, and she threw open her door and ran across the hall to Sherlock's room.

The drapes around the four poster bed were on fire, and Molly could see the outline of Sherlock asleep inside. She set her candle down on a table and ran to the basin and pitcher of water. She cried out, "Sherlock, wake up! For all that is holy, wake up!" as she threw the water on the fire, which was quickly spreading around the bed. He spluttered and woke as some of the water hit him, and Molly ran across the hall to get her own pitcher. Just as she came back, Sherlock had gotten out of the bed, and Molly doused the rest of the fire.

"Molly, what happened?"

"Sir, I couldn't sleep, and I heard someone open your door, and a strange laugh I've heard before here. I spied through the key hole, and saw a horrible figure before it blew its candle out and went away. I don't know who it was, but then I heard the sound of fire."

Sherlock paced a second before saying, "It is lucky you were awake, for if not, I would surely be dead." He went to his closet and pulled out two dressing gowns. "You're soaked, and the night is cold. Put this on." He helped her into the nicer of the two dressing gowns, and his hands rested for just a second on her shoulders. He quickly put a faded and ratty blue one on himself. He fetched her candle, and sat her down in a chair, handing the candle to her. "Stay here, Molly. It's not safe for you to be out right now. I will come back for you when it is." With that, Sherlock left the room.

If Molly had had insomnia before this incident, there was no chance of her going to sleep now. Molly tried not to think of the thing that had nearly killed Sherlock. She wrapped herself more tightly in the dressing gown and pulled her knees up to her chest to conserve heat.

Sherlock was gone for at least a half and hour by Molly's reckoning before he came back, looking rather tired. "Molly, are you awake?"

She lifted her head from the back of the chair and said, "Yes, Sherlock."

"Everything's fine now. You can go back to bed."

"I doubt I'll be able to sleep."

"After what has happened, I doubt that as well. Try to get some rest."

They crossed the hall, and Molly went in her room as Sherlock stood at the door. She touched the dressing gown and started to take it off, but Sherlock said, "You can give it back to me in the morning."

"Alright." Molly shivered, as she was still a bit cold and her feet were bare.

Sherlock had an odd expression on his face, one that Molly couldn't decipher. He said, "Thank you again for saving my life."

Molly looked down. "Thank you, Sherlock."

"Sleep well." Sherlock closed the door behind him.

* * *

Molly only managed to sleep a few hours that night. When she awoke, the household was in a buzz. As Molly emerged from her room in the morning, she saw Leah and Rebecca taking up the burnt portions of the draperies from where they lay in a heap on the floor. Leah said, "It was sure dangerous of Mr. Holmes to leave a candle burning at night like that."

"Yeah, if he hadn't caught the blaze when he did, the whole room could have caught fire."

Molly wondered why Sherlock had changed the story as she went to breakfast. Later that day, in the afternoon, Molly saw Sherlock talking with Mary Morstan, who looked very tired. As Mary went upstairs, Sherlock went over to Molly. "Were you able to sleep?"

"Fitfully, for a few hours."

"I couldn't sleep a wink." He paused for a second, then said, "I would greatly appreciate it if you did not discuss the events of last night with the others at Thornfield."

"Certainly, sir. But who set the fire? I am sure I have never seen someone like that here."

"It was someone you need not be concerned with. Try to put the incident out of your head."

Molly resisted doing as he said. She was certain of what she had seen and felt, and still suspected something was up. As if Sherlock could read her thoughts, he put his hands on her shoulders and said, "You are safe. Adele is safe, everyone is safe now. There is nothing for you to fear. If there is one thing that I cannot stand, it is tension in my home. Please, know I am telling you the truth."

Under his gaze, Molly couldn't voice her doubts, and instead just nodded. After a second, Sherlock stepped back, then turned and went down the stairs. Adele had gone to get a book from the schoolroom, and as she came back, she said, "What was that?"

"I'm not sure, Adele."

* * *

Three days later, Sherlock left for London, and Molly saw didn't see the strange figure again. She and Adele fell back into their regular schedule of school, and after the first snowfall mid-November, they went outside and played in the snow. Molly loved snow, and they built several snow people outside and decorated them with old hats and coats. However, most of the time they were stuck inside.

Molly began to see a change in herself in the weeks after Sherlock left. She often thought about him and the cases he would be on, and whether he'd gotten himself in danger. She would sometimes daydream about him, wondering if she lived in London, they could go on cases together and catch master criminals. When she woke up from them, she would smile, then sigh when she realized how impossible that would be. He was a gentleman, and she was simply his employee. She was small and plain, while Sherlock was handsome, if not conventionally so, and brilliant on top of that. While he had treated her well, there was no chance of him doing something like that with her.

It made Molly's heart warm to think of him, and as she had never been in love before, she did not recognize it at first. Sequestered at an all girls' school from a young age, she hadn't had the chance to fall in love. But as soon as Molly realized the depth of her feelings for Sherlock, she did her best to put it out of her mind. It was impossible and nearly insane to think that someone like Sherlock could fall in love with her or marry her.

One day in late November, Molly asked Mrs. Hudson, "Has Sherlock ever been married?"

"No, dear, he's been a bachelor for as long as I've known him. He's generally indifferent to the fairer sex, and with his habits, I doubt many women would take him."

Molly breathed a small sigh of relief.

The front door opened, and a very cold Tom came in. Every week, he went down to Millcoat to get their mail, and he handed a small stack of letters to Mrs. Hudson. She flipped through them, and laughed. "Speak of the devil and he shall appear!" She showed a letter to Molly. It was from Sherlock in London. She opened it with a silver letter-opener and scanned the letter. "Sherlock's doing well. He sends his regards to you, Molly. He says he may come down in January to visit again, he's not sure. Oh how lovely," Mrs. Hudson smiled. "Sherlock's been courting a lady by the name of Irene Adler, and she may accompany him if he visits." She lifted her head from the letter. "I sometimes visit some of my relatives in London, and I've seen this Miss Adler. She's very accomplished and beautiful, a renowned singer and actress."

Molly's heart faltered a beat at Mrs. Hudson's words. "What does she look like?"

"She's got long black hair, fair skin, a fine figure with a slim waist, and her face is very lovely with full red lips and blue-grey eyes. Why did you want to know?"

"Just curious." Molly looked away, and Mrs. Hudson turned back to Sherlock's letter.

"They sound rather serious, if Sherlock is to be believed. Their match would be quite advantageous."

"It certainly sounds like it." Molly walked away. For a few minutes, she wandered the halls with no real aim or destination in mind as she mulled over her feelings and the new information she had gotten. An idea struck her, and she went to her bedroom and got out her paper, inks, and paint. She brought over a small mirror and put a piece of paper down on her table. She studied her own face in the mirror, then took her pencil and drew the outline of her face as faithfully as possible. She left out none of her defects and faults as she did so, and drew her hair as she wore it most often in a braid. Molly studied the outline of her face, and placed on it her large brown eyes, her slightly upturned nose, and her mouth. She colored it with her pencils, and then stood back from her work.

It was what she had set out to make: a faithful portrait of herself. She was, by no means, beautiful. She said to herself, "When I think of me and Sherlock, I will fix this image in my mind and say, 'I am a poor governess, pale, thin, and plain, and Sherlock cannot love me,' to remind myself of my station."

Molly set her portrait to the side and got out another sheet of paper. On it, she drew the outline of a fine face, with long tresses behind it. She fixed two eyes with long lashes, a slender nose, and a full mouth on it. With her paints, she colored the hair jet black, and the face a delicate peach. The eyes were blue-grey, and finally the lips red. Molly looked on her second work. It was undeniably beautiful, and exactly as Mrs. Hudson had described Miss Adler. The face seemed to look on her with a slight smile, as if it knew its maker and that she could not compare to her creation.

With a shaky voice, Molly said, "And when I think of Irene Adler, I will fix this image in my mind and say, 'This is the portrait of a great lady, accomplished, rich, and beautiful, and I will never be able to compete with her. She is an appropriate match for Sherlock, and I should be happy she has attracted the attentions of such a brilliant man,' instead of envying her and making myself want what I cannot have." A small tear ran down Molly's face, and she put both portraits into her portfolio.

* * *

December arrived, and Thornfield prepared for Christmas. The house was being decorated, and a fir tree was brought in and covered with candles, garland, ornaments, and strings of popcorn. Molly practiced Christmas carols on the piano, and Adele was excited because every Christmas, Sherlock sent her a present. Molly was working on a portrait for Adele, as well as a dress for one of her dolls, and a landscape for Mrs. Hudson.

Molly's plan to use the portraits to fall out of love with Sherlock wasn't really working. It made her heart ache to think of Sherlock with anyone, and while she was not jealous of Miss Adler, she wished she had been able to keep her feelings in check. Molly felt less cheerful that she normally did this time of year. After all, Molly loved the Christmas season.

Mid-December, Molly was downstairs in the drawing room with Mrs. Hudson when Tom came in from his weekly mail run. "There's a letter from Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Hudson," he said, and handed it to her.

Mrs. Hudson opened it and read through it. She gasped, "Oh my!" as she rose, still reading the letter.

Molly set down her sewing, her heart in her throat. Several scenarios played out in her mind. "What's happened?"

"Sherlock's coming down for Christmas. Molly, and he's expecting guests. Dr. John Watson, Michael Stamford, Irene Adler, the list goes on. They'll all be staying for the holidays and arriving in just a week, and there's so much to prepare!" She went out into the hall, calling for Leah and Rebecca.

Molly felt rather sick, and knew this Christmas would be interesting to say the least.


	6. Chapter 6

**You guys are seriously the best. My heartfelt thanks for all the reviews and follows! **

**On a related note, I make jewelry, and I found a pendant that looks like a small book, and it's Jane Eyre. Plus, it's purple, which is my favorite color. *Looks down at herself to see she is entirely dressed in purple* I'm going to wear it every time I write new chapters! :) Anyways, thanks so much for reading and enjoy!**

* * *

The week before company arrived was, hands down, the busiest week of Molly's life. The small contingent of servants who lived and worked at Thornfield were in no way able to prepare the house for so many guests, and Mrs. Hudson had to hire on additional help. Thornfield became filled with unfamiliar faces cleaning, cooking, and bringing down more chairs and tables from the attic. Even Molly had been drafted to help out, although most of the time, Molly was needed to keep Adele out of the way. Adele was practically frantic, planning out all the pretty dresses she would wear for the fine ladies. It was a struggle to calm her down to get a few lessons in every day, and by Wednesday, Molly gave up. Sherlock and company were due Friday, and it was nearly Christmas, after all.

Molly was also busy finishing her Christmas presents, as she now needed to make one for Sherlock. It seemed only appropriate, although she planned to just slip it under his door Christmas morning. He would surely recognize her hand.

Molly had gone out to the place where they had first met so many weeks before and done a few studies of the two trees she had been observing when Sherlock fell from his horse. She imagined how green leaves and blossoms would look on them, and was soon ready to draw.

Late Thursday night, Molly got out her pencils and a large piece of paper, as well as the studies she had done earlier. She drew the dark brown trunks and roots, then the branches, intertwined as they were. Molly did some highlights and lowlights on the trunks and roots to give them texture and depth. Happy with her work so far, Molly added greenery, putting leaves along the branches and adding a light green haze around the trees. She also put some green moss at the roots. Molly got out her yellow pencils and put flowers along the branches in bunches. Finally, Molly drew wheat growing in the fields behind the trees, the dirt and gravel of the road, and a cloudless blue sky.

Molly stepped back from her work, and had only to do a few touch-ups to finish it. She signed her initials M.E. on the bottom right corner in black ink. She was satisfied with the drawing, and it was certainly one of the best drawings she had ever done. Content, Molly blew out her candle and went to bed.

* * *

Molly awoke in the morning fully aware that today was the day Sherlock and his guests would be coming. Her heart started pounding in her chest, and she took several deep breaths to calm herself before sitting up, stretching, and throwing back the covers. She went over to the washstand and poured some water from the pitcher into the basin before splashing some on her face. The cold water felt good on her face and hands. She dried them, and braided her loose hair down her back as she normally. Molly took off her nightdress and put on one of her frocks from Bart's. She looked at herself in the mirror; she was rather plain, but presentable enough. She turned away and went out to find Adele.

Adele was nearly impossible to handle because company was coming. Molly found her and Sophia in Adele's room. Adele was running around in her underclothes, first putting on one dress, then deciding on another, and another. Even with pressure from both Sophia and Molly to just pick one, it took Adele an hour to decide on a frilly pink dress. However, it took another hour for Molly to do Adele's hair because each curl had to be just perfect. Molly knew that minding Adele was preferable to working downstairs, so she let Adele fuss over her hair and dress.

Adele seemed to personify Molly's own nervousness, and calming Adele down helped Molly do the same.

After lunch, Molly suggested that she and Adele sit by the window that looked out over Thornfield and its gate for the travelers, and Adele enthusiastically agreed. Sherlock and company were expected in the late afternoon or early evening, and while they waited, Molly did some sewing. Adele chatted almost constantly, and her babble became reassuring white noise.

About half past four, Adele squealed and said, "They're here! Sherlock and the pretty ladies are here!"

Molly set her sewing down in her lap and looked out. Three horses were galloping through the gate with Baskerville and onto the drive, and a large carriage followed close behind. Molly recognized Sherlock as he dismounted and handed his reins off to Tom. Another rider, a man with blond hair, alighted as well. Sherlock strode over to the third rider, a woman in a riding dress, and helped her to dismount. She handed her reins as well off to Tom and lifted her riding veil to reveal black, curling hair, a beautiful porcelain face, and a red mouth. Sherlock smiled and said something to her that made her throw her head back and laugh.

The carriage door opened as the three horses were led away, and a portly man, a man with grey-black hair, a young woman, and an older lady with graying hair got out.

Adele pleaded with Molly. "Please, can I go say hello? Please?" She opened her eyes wide and stuck her bottom lip out.

"No, Adele, you must wait until you are called. They must be tired, and Sherlock will probably call you down after dinner. We'll be eating in the schoolroom tonight."

After they ate dinner, someone knocked at the door, and Molly expected it was Mrs. Hudson coming to take Adele downstairs. She opened the door, and Sherlock was standing on the other side. He smiled and said, "Hello, Molly." Adele ran to him and gave him a hug, which he half-heartedly reciprocated. "And hello to you, Adele."

"Hello Sherlock. Are the pretty ladies ready to see me now?"

"Yes, you can go down." Adele took off running. Sherlock turned to Molly and said, "I also came to request your presence in the parlor."

Molly hadn't expected she would be invited, and had planned to spend the evening reading. Taken quite aback, Molly nodded and said, "Alright, I guess."

"That is, if you want to."

Molly smiled. "Sure, Sherlock. I'll be down in a minute."

Sherlock turned and went down the stairs. Molly went to her room and got the thick medical text she was going to devour tonight. She planned to sit inconspicuously in the corner and read, as the ladies and gentlemen would probably already think her odd. She had no desire to talk with them, but as Sherlock wished for her to come, she silenced her better judgement and descended the stairs.

While the ladies and gentlemen were distracted by Adele, Molly slipped into the room and sat down on one of the window-seats with her book. She could now study Sherlock's guests as they interacted together.

Sherlock had mentioned once his flatmate Dr. John Watson. He was the blond man, and he seemed nice. He smiled a lot, and laughed with Michael Stamford, the portly gentleman who had ridden in the coach, and Gregory Lestrade, the man with the salt-and-peppered hair. Watson, Stamford, Lestrade, and Sherlock were discussing some of Sherlock's recent cases. It sounded quite interesting to Molly, but Adele, Irene Adler, and the other two women were closer to Molly's window, and drowned out most of the men's speech.

Irene Adler had been accompanied by her younger sister Eliza and her mother Lady Charlotte, and all three ladies were dressed in the finest silks and satins. Irene wore a closely tailored dress in royal purple, with lavender accents that highlighted her black, glossy hair and fine features. Eliza wasn't quite as stunning, but pretty nonetheless, dressed in green. Their mother's dress was dark brown with blue accents.

Irene in the flesh looked quite like the portrait Molly had done, but her eyes weren't soft as Molly had painted them. They were cold, calculating, and shrewd. Irene was quick to point out flaws in her sister, and as Adele pestered them, wishing to sing for the ladies, Irene said, "You've got something in your hair, just there," as she motioned behind her ear. Adele rushed out of the room to fix whatever it was. Irene laughed and said, "Glad we got rid of her, she was annoying me. Such a stupid, needy child. Wonder why on earth Sherlock chooses to keep her."

Eliza laughed as well, but her eyes were dark and dim. She did not seem particularly smart, contrasting greatly with her highly intelligent and accomplished older sister. Their mother seemed just as slow as Eliza. Molly wondered why Irene had brought them along with her, as well as disliking the women for being mean to Adele. She could be a handful at times, but she was very sweet and kind.

Adele came back into the room, and she looked rather confused and hurt. Molly sent her a small smile, and Adele went to a corner to read as well.

Having observed as much of the party as she had wished to, Molly turned back to her book. It was incredibly interesting, and stole her attention for a little while. She only looked up when Irene said in a loud voice, "Sherlock! Do you play?" She was standing at the piano and rifling through the small collection of music that resided there.

"My brother does, but I play another instrument. Give me a moment to fetch it." Sherlock left the room, and Irene sat down to play. Mrs. Hudson had been right; Irene Adler was a very fine singer and accompanist. She sang and played a song by heart, and halfway through Sherlock came back into the room carrying a case, which he set on the piano and opened to reveal a violin. Molly had no idea he played. Just as Irene began a new chorus, Sherlock joined in on his violin, providing a counter-melody that complemented Irene's playing and her rich voice. The rest of the party gathered around the piano, and when Irene and Sherlock finished, applauded uproariously. Molly took her eyes off her book and saw both Irene and Sherlock smiling at each other. Eliza said, "That was lovely, Irene! I want to hear some more."

Irene laughed and said, "Alright, Lizzie. Do you know this one, Sherlock?" Irene played a slower song this time, and Sherlock's violin became mournful and sad. The duo played several more songs together. Sherlock also performed a solo, a song that was warm, gentle, and longing, and Molly thought it was interesting that Sherlock, a generally unemotional man, could create such heartfelt music.

It grew late, and Molly saw Adele's eyelids beginning to droop after she let out an enormous yawn. Molly was starting to be sleepy as well, and she got up from her window-seat. She took Adele's hand and they walked to the parlor door. Sherlock saw them starting to go, and said, "Leaving so soon?"

"It's late, and we're both tired. Goodnight, sir."

The rest of the party turned to look at them, as this was the first time they had heard Molly speak the entire evening. Even Irene stood up from her seat on the piano bench. John Watson said, "Who's this, Sherlock?"

"Miss Molly Eyre, Adele's governess."

Irene said, "What have you been reading? You've had your nose stuck in a book all evening."

Molly glanced down at the large volume, and said, "It's rather a rather interesting text on the decomposition of the human body." She looked down again. The letters on the spine were wide enough that they would have known if she had lied, but as the women looked disgusted and Watson and Stamford looked rather confused, Molly wished she could have told a fib.

Watson took her hand and said, "Well, it was certainly nice to meet you, Miss Eyre."

Molly gave an embarrassed smile before fleeing the room with Adele in tow.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Sherlock led his guests on a tour of the house, as none of them had seen Thornfield before. Adele had gone with them, and Molly was free to do as she wished. Since no one was in the parlor, Molly decided to practice the piano. She got out some of the sheet music, and started in on one of her favorites. It was an adaptation of one of Molly's favorite hymns. As the last chord of the song faded, someone slowly clapped behind Molly, making her jump and turn around. Irene Adler stood in the doorway.

"Nice, Miss Eyre. You've got a modicum of talent. But," she loped over to the piano, "I noticed you've got an awkward fingering at the beginning of the second part that trips you up. Try this." Irene sat next to Molly and played the section perfectly with a slight smirk on her face.

Molly bit her lip and tried it as Irene had. It was better, Molly had to admit, but Molly kept messing up in different spots because Irene's eyes on her made her nervous. From the corner of Molly's eye, Molly could see Irene studying her with a rather strange look. Molly said, "I thought you were on the tour. If you want the piano,"

"No, keep playing. I slipped away ages ago, and besides," she winked, "I like to find my own way around."

Irene sighed when Molly played a particularly wrong note and said, "Keep at it. You'll get it, eventually." Irene got up and left the room, leaving Molly, thankfully, in peace. She played the piece through another time and managed to play it perfectly without the beautiful woman watching over her like a hawk. Smiling, she moved on to a cheerful Christmas song.

As she finished, Sherlock said behind her, "Molly, are you busy? I need a lab assistant and you're the only one I would trust with the job."

Molly was shocked. "What?"

"Mrs. Hudson is too old, John, Lestrade, and Stamford are out on a ride and the servants and the women are either too stupid or too stuck-up to be helpful."

"Lab assistant?"

Sherlock huffed and said, "Yes, Molly. I want to run some experiments and I would like your assistance."

As Adele was upstairs with the women last time Molly checked, she said ,"Sure."

"Follow me. And don't touch anything, unless I tell you to." Sherlock led her out the door and they went down the stairs to the kitchen, stopping a door short. Sherlock produced a key and opened the door. The room was small and dark, with only one small window for light, and was made even smaller by the large tables, sink, and racks that took up most of the space. He grabbed a large lab apron and handed it to her. "Put this on. It'll protect you and your dress from the chemicals." He put another one on himself, and handed out a pair of thick gloves that were enormous on Molly's small hands.

Dressed and ready, Molly looked around the strange room. There were glass beakers and vials everywhere, and one wall was devoted to an extensive collection of small and large bottles. Sherlock stared at them for a few seconds before selecting one of the smaller bottles. He set them all on one of the sturdy wooden tables and got out several glasses. Sherlock pointed to the bottle as he brought out seven large pieces of wood. "Today, we will be testing how different types of wood react to sulfuric acid. While I cut these pieces of wood so that they all have the same mass, take this bottle," he picked it up, "and measure out ten milliliters of sulfuric acid using the graduated cylinder and put it in each of these seven glasses. Once you finish with that, wash out the graduated cylinder and add forty milliliters of water into each glass." He pointed to a glass full of glass stirrers. "Use one stirrer for each glass and stir the solution. Molly, do be careful. Sulfuric acid can cause horrendous burns if it comes into contact with your skin or eyes, so leave your gloves on when handling it or washing out the glasses. Do you have any questions?"

Molly looked at the table, glasses, bottle, and graduated cylinder, and said, "I don't think so."

"Repeat back what I said."

She swallowed and said, "Measure out ten milliliters of sulfuric acid for each of the seven glasses, then wash out the cylinder and measure out forty milliliters of water and put it in each glass. Stir it with the stirrers. Don't touch the sulfuric acid in any way because it will burn you."

"Good. You can begin."

Molly stepped forward to the table and took a deep breath before opening the bottle of acid. She carefully poured the acid into the small graduated cylinder until it filled up to the 10 mark. Molly bent down so that her head was at the same height as the top of the acid, and it was just right. Molly arranged the glasses into a line and poured the sulfuric acid into the first one. Molly glanced behind her, where Sherlock was carving one of the types of wood into a cube. He placed it onto a pair of scales with a small metal weight on the other side. The cube dipped lower than the weight, and Sherlock took it off to carve another portion off. Molly went back to her work.

It was nice to be doing something interesting and unexpected, and Molly couldn't help but like that Sherlock chose her to assist him. It was hard for Molly to remind herself that Sherlock's heart belonged to Irene Adler, and nothing she could say or do can change that. Sherlock seemed so focused in his work, and his curiosity was infectious, as Molly now wondered which of the seven woods would be most affected.

Molly finally measured out the last of the sulfuric acid and put the top back on the bottle. She went over to the deep sink and washed out the graduated cylinder thoroughly. Molly set aside the graduated cylinder as she took a large glass from off a shelf. It would be easier to get a large glass and fill it with water than have to go back and forth to the sink. Molly looked over at Sherlock again and he already had four of the cubes done and lined up side by side. Molly carefully measured out all the water for the glasses and stirred them. By this time, Sherlock was finished with the last cube and brought the lot over.

Sherlock took down a black notebook from a shelf and flipped to an empty page. "From left to right, the order is oak, pine, elm, willow, birch, cherry, and ash." He put the cubes in order by type in front of its respective glass and picked up a set of tongs from the table. "Trial 1: Oak." He picked up the first cube and set it in the acid. Immediately the bottom of the cube turned black and steam came from the liquid. Molly bent down so that she could see the bubbling solution.

The wood was being burned by the acid, and yet no fire had been lit. She said, "Amazing!" with a note of wonder in her voice. Science and experiments were incredibly interesting. Molly took her eyes off the wood, which was almost halfway charred, and looked at Sherlock. His face held little emotion as he glanced at her for a second, but there was something in his eyes that Molly didn't understand.

He replied, "Yes, acids are quite powerful. Given the densities of the different woods, I think that the least dense woods will burn fastest because the acid will have less to eat through."

"Fascinating." The bubbling in the glass slowed as the last of the cube charred. Sherlock scribbled down several lines on notes in his notebook, then picked the second cube up with the tongs and placed it inside its glass.

"Trial 2: Pine. Molly, dump the wood fragments and acid into the bin, and wash out the glass, please."

Molly did so, occasionally turning and looking at the second reaction. They repeated this for the next four types of wood, and just as Molly was washing out the glass from the cherry trial, someone opened the door. Molly turned and saw it was John Watson, who said, "Sherlock, what are you doing down here?"

"Experimenting, John. I'm testing how different woods react with sulfuric acid."

"Interesting." Watson looked around the lab and spotted Molly. "Hello, Miss Eyre! What are you doing down here?"

Before Molly could reply, Sherlock said, "As you, Stamford, and Lestrade were out and the servants and the women were either too stupid or too stuck-up to be useful, Molly was the best alternative."

Watson looked between Sherlock and Molly as the final wood cube finished reacting and Molly washed the last glass and the tongs.

"Is there anything else you need, Sherlock?"

"No, Molly. Thank you for your assistance." He took her gloves and apron from her, and they stood for a minute in awkward silence.

Molly said, "I should probably see to Adele."

John Watson looked at her and replied, "I was just going to head upstairs, can you show me the way, Miss Eyre?"

Sherlock said, "John gets lost easily."

Molly nodded and said, "This way, Dr. Watson."

As they went up the back kitchen stairs, John said, "Call me John. How long have you been at Thornfield, Molly?"

"Since this summer. I like it here, and Adele is pretty easy to teach."

"That's good, she seems like a nice little girl."

"She's rather hyperactive at times, but sweet as could be."

They were just passing through the hall and up the main staircase when Molly spotted Mary coming down from the third story. Mary said, "Hello, Molly. How are you today?"

"Fine, Mary. This is Dr. John Watson, one of Sherlock's guests."

John shook Mary's hand. "Nice to meet you."

"And you as well." Mary smiled, something Molly had only occasionally seen her do. Molly left the two of them in search of Adele, and the two blonds began to make small talk as they walked along the corridor.

* * *

Later that evening, all the guests at Thornfield, except for John, he wasn't feeling well that night, got together in the parlor, and Molly sat in the same window seat and read for the first hour. Eliza and her mother languished on the couch, Irene picked out pieces on the piano, and the men continued to talk together. Out of nowhere, Irene stood and said, "Let's play charades! I'm simply dying for a distraction."

Sherlock said, "Alright. There are some old clothes and furnishings upstairs. I'll have some of the servants fetch them." He then called for Mrs. Hudson to make the arrangements.

"Shall we form teams?" Stamford asked.

"Certainly," Sherlock replied. "Who wishes to be on mine?"

"I will," Irene answered immediately.

"I will too!" Adele cried and ran to stand by her guardian.

Lestrade said, "I guess I'll just have to form my own team."

"I'll be on Lestrade's," Stamford said with a smile.

Eliza looked at her mother and said, "I do believe I will match wits against my sister, mama." She stood by Lestrade, but her mother said, "I'm afraid I'm rather too old for this kind of sport. Should anyone check on John?"

"No, he insisted that he needed the rest, although I can't imagine why. He seemed fine this afternoon." Sherlock looked rather puzzled, but shook his head and turned to Molly. "Would you care to join us?"

"No, thank you." Molly was content where she was, and both Irene and Eliza looked taken aback that Sherlock would want her to play. Neither of them had insulted her intelligence yet, but anytime their eyes wandered in her direction, they would look away as if Molly were some kind of beggar unworthy of their glance. Already a shy person, Molly further retreated into her window-seat, but was interested in the game.

Meanwhile, trunks had been brought down and screens arranged so the players could dress in private. Curtains were put up in front of the doorway to hide the players from the other team.

Sherlock, Irene, and Adele were first up. They conferred for a minute or two, then went outside the room for a minute or two to prepare. Stamford called, "Ready?" and Sherlock yelled back, "Yes."

Sherlock entered first, wearing a large top hat, long coat, and holding a whip. He made many great gestures, then mimed whistling, and Irene came out. The only change in her appearance was a mustache and beard. She curtsied and tweaked her mustache for the audience. Sherlock pretended to whistle again, and Adele came out wearing a headdress around her head. She rather looked like a lion, but the illusion was a bit off because she kept giggling. Sherlock pretended to whip Adele while she clawed at him. They continued this mime for another minute while Lestrade, Eliza, and Stamford whispered among themselves. Finally, Lestrade said, "The circus?"

"Correct." Sherlock smiled and Irene happily took off her mustache. "Adele thought of that one. Give us another minute."

Sherlock and company went back behind the curtain, and before long, Sherlock came back in, this time in a tunic with a bow and arrow. Adele came in, wearing a tiara and holding a large sack that clicked like there were gold pieces in it, and Sherlock made her give it up. Adele ran off as Irene came back in, wearing an old-fashioned hat and embraced Sherlock. She then stood by his side and the look on her face conveyed awe and wonder. Adele walked back, covered in dirt and wearing a dress that was practically in tatters, and Sherlock handed her the bag of money. Adele feigned shock and awe and hugged Sherlock, which he wasn't expecting, but he managed to smile nevertheless.

Again, the other team talked, and they said, "Robin Hood?"

"Right. Irene makes a lovely Maid Marion, does she not?"

Eliza laughed and said, "Certainly."

Sherlock, Irene, and Adele went back behind the curtain for the third and last time, and this time, Adele was the first to come out. She was dressed in clerical robes that were enormous on her and holding a book. She turned back to the doorway so that her back was to the rest of the room. Sherlock came next, wearing dress clothes and a tie, and paced back and forth in front of Adele before going to her right and facing the door. Irene then came out, walking stately forward in a long white dress and veil. Sherlock smiled and took her hands, and they faced each other in front of Adele. Adele gestured and pretended to talk like a pastor before throwing up a handful of rice. Sherlock lifted Irene's veil and pretended to kiss her.

Molly immediately knew what the charade was, a wedding ceremony. Molly felt a little sick watching it, as it was likely a vision of the future. Stamford broke her out of her reverie when he said, "Wedding!"

"Three for three. Well done." Sherlock took off the dress coat and he, Irene, and Adele went out to change back into their normal clothes.

With Sherlock's part in the game finished, Molly lost interest in the game, and instead watched how he and Irene talked together, smiling and whispering, as the other team went. Molly became so engrossed in watching Sherlock and Irene that later that night, Molly couldn't remember what the other team had acted out.

Molly also thought about Sherlock and Irene's relationship, and she thought Irene was wrong for Sherlock. Irene was too cruel and self-centered for Sherlock to be happy with her. She would never deign to do experiments with him. She may be his intellectual match, but Sherlock deserved someone kinder.

After the game, Sherlock played his violin, and several of the guests remarked that Sherlock could have played first chair in a symphony if he had put his mind to it. Molly closed her eyes as she drank in the beautiful music.

About a half-hour later, Molly took Adele to bed, and as she did, she saw Mary walking up the stairs. John came out of his room, not appearing out of sorts in the least, and looked at Mary's retreating form. He then heard them walking up the stairs, and Molly said, "I sure hope you feel better."

"Yeah, I think I am. Tell me, what do you know of Mary Morstan?"


	8. Chapter 8

**I am super sorry for not updating sooner. Life just got really crazy, but I'm back now! Thanks for reading!**

**I finally got my own personal copy of _Jane Eyre_ yesterday. Library e-books just aren't the same as your own book. Plus, new book smell! :)**

* * *

The next day was December 23rd. On the eve of Christmas eve, the bottom of the Christmas tree was beginning to be filled with presents. Molly put hers with the others, and the house was filled with the smell of pine and cooking food.

It had snowed during the night, so several of them went outside to play in the snow. Sherlock, Irene, Adele, Molly, John, and Lestrade all made snowmen and snow angels, and later they had a snowball fight. It was quite a lot of fun, but Irene refused to join in the snowball fight, saying that she didn't want to get snow on her. By the time they went inside, all their cheeks were rosy and their sides hurt from rogue snowballs and laughing. Molly took Adele upstairs to get her dressed in clean and dry clothes, and did the same for herself. Her hair was pretty wet from melting snow, and Molly chose to take her hair out of its braid and let it hang loose to dry for a few minutes before she put it into a low bun at the back of her neck.

As she ventured downstairs, Molly quickly crossed the room and took up her usual seat by the window. Only Stamford and Lestrade were in the room, so Molly relaxed her shoulders and focused solely on her book until she heard the sound of higher, feminine voices entering the room. The ladies had arrived, Adele at their heels, and they were talking amongst themselves by the piano. Molly was partially hidden behind the drapes framing the window, and so the ladies had not seen she was there. Eliza said, "What a strange creature that governess is!"

Irene replied, "Certainly, sister. Remember our governesses? We drove each one of them away because they were all so stupid. And yet Molly looks at me with those eyes! They cut right into my soul, I swear. I wonder where Sherlock found her."

Molly's face grew red and hot at their cruel words. She dared not say anything and expose her presence, but tears threatened to roll down her cheeks, and Molly refused to let the women see her cry. That would be too much.

"He must have found the smallest and oddest governess in the whole of England. Every time she looks at me with her pale face and those enormous brown eyes, I think she must be a brownie." Their mother did not hesitate to join in the conversation.

Adele frowned at the women. "But I like Miss Molly! She is very nice to me."

Irene laughed and bent down so that her face was on the same level as Adele's. "Little monkey, if you knew any better, or had any spark of intelligence, you wouldn't blindly accept someone like her as a governess."

Adele's face screwed up, and she burst into tears and ran from the room. It took all of Molly's courage not to confront Irene. What kind of woman would insult a poor governess and a little child and not feel remorse? With each passing day, Molly's heart filled with dread that Sherlock would indeed marry Irene. How could he be happy with such a vixen as she? Molly let herself be angry for just a minute longer, then she breathed in and out slowly to calm herself down and turned back to her book.

John had been feeling ill again this evening, and so his absence was not odd, but Sherlock had not yet come back from doing some business in Millcoat. Molly heard the doorbell ring, and Mrs. Hudson soon led a man into the parlor. He was tall and slightly fat, but the strangest thing about him was his expression. His eyes and demeanor were as cold as ice, and he did not bother to introduce himself as he came in, instead choosing to sit in a chair by the fire by himself. The chair he chose was the one Sherlock liked most, and the two men were jarringly different. Sherlock was excitable, energetic, and unafraid to offend, but this man was almost frozen, not caring to talk to anyone else in the room. Stamford and Lestrade wandered over to talk to him, but he ignored their advances.

Molly was close enough to the women to hear Eliza say, "What an odd man!"

Irene whispered back, "Its as if Sherlock enjoys collecting strange people, like others collect stamps."

Molly could see his cold, blue eyes flick over to the women, and Molly could read slight annoyance in his features. Lestrade and Stamford wandered over to him, saying, "Hello there! How are you?"

The man didn't say anything.

Lestrade looked puzzled. "What business do you have with Mr. Holmes?"

The man fixed his eyes on Lestrade, and said in a bored tone, "I am his brother; that is my business." The man's cold demeanor and harsh reply repelled Lestrade and Stamford away from him.

At this point, Tom came in, clutching his brown hat. He went over to the Lestrade and Stamford, and said, "Sirs, as Sherlock is not yet come back, and Watson isn't well, I must ask your guidance."

Stamford asked, "What is the matter?"

"There is an old woman, a gypsy, come from outside. We offered her food and drink on her way, as we do with travelers, but she is in the servant's hall and refuses to leave."

"I'm a Detective Inspector from London," Lestrade began. "I have the authority to make her leave, if you wish."

"Ah, but sirs, the night is very cold, and I would not like to turn her out in it. She wishes to speak to the gentry in the household, and tell them their fortunes." Tom continued to fold and crumple his hat as he spoke, a nervous tick Molly had seen before.

Irene sauntered over and said, "I see no harm in the old beggar. Let her come here and read our fortunes. It will be great sport, don't you agree, sister?"

"Oh yes, what fun! What does she look like?" Eliza asked sweetly.

"She is hunched, and her hat covers most of her features. From her voice and demeanor, she is very aged."

Eliza laughed and said, "A sorceress! Yes, let her come here!"

Tom left and about two minutes later, he came back, his hat even more crumpled than before. "Sirs and ladies, she will not come before all of you at once. She demands to be seated in a room and those who wish to consult her must come one at a time."

Mrs. Adler now came over and said, "How ungrateful! She dares to make such requests of us!" Turning to her elder daughter, she said, "Come now Irene, have the old woman thrown out of the house."

Irene simply told Tom, "It is alright; I want her all to myself when I see her. Go and show her into the drawing room."

Tom came back just a minute later. "She is ready and awaits her first visitor."

Lestrade turned to Stamford and Irene and said, "If it's alright with you, I'd like to go first, to make sure everything's safe for you ladies. Tell her a gentleman is coming, Tom."

As Tom reappeared, he sighed and said, "She refuses all gentlemen, and will only see the ladies, and only if they are young and single."

Both men laughed.

With a slight smirk on her face, Irene said, "I'll be first," as she walked out of the room. Her mother begged and entreated for her not to go, but Irene was implacable, and simply threw her mother's hands off her arm as she went.

Molly looked at the clock. The men and ladies chatted about what Irene's fortune might be, and only the man and Molly did not join in. Five minutes passed, then ten. Mrs. Adler grew worried with every passing minute. Eliza only became more excited, and the men thought it was all good sport.

At the fifteen minute mark, Irene came back in. Her face was calm, yet her eyes were strangely empty as she took a seat on the couch and picked up a book.

Eliza cried, "What did she tell you?"

Irene stiffly said, "She is a charlatan, nothing more. Yes, she read my palm and divined my future, but she is no witch, like you have imagined her to be. Even my mamma has given in to such fancies. I will advise that afterward, you take her to the stocks at Millcoat, Lestrade." With that, she turned to her book, and her sister leapt up to have her future told.

Eliza was gone for just a few minutes, but she returned laughing and saying, "She knows everything about me, trinkets I have been given, friends I have, the people I love most!" The others soon joined to talk to her about it, and Irene continued to pretend to read, even though Molly had not seen her turn a single page and her face grew darker and more disappointed.

Tom came in the doorway and said, "She still refuses to leave until she has seen all the young ladies."

Lestrade said, "Surely she doesn't mean Adele."

"No, I believe she wishes for Miss Eyre to come." All at once, everyone's eyes flicked to Molly, even the strange man's. Under the man's gaze, Molly felt exposed, as if, like Sherlock, he could see into her very soul. The three Adlers had not noticed Molly, but now they glared at her, as though Molly was not worthy of having her fortune told.

Molly managed to smile and said, "I'll come, Tom." She stood up, set her book down on the window seat, and followed Tom out of the parlor.

He said to her, "Molly, if you get frightened, I'll be just outside in the hall."

"I'll be fine, Tom. You can go to the kitchen." As he left, Molly took a deep breath to steady herself, then opened the door.

The old woman was seated by the fire, covered in several cloaks and shawls, and a large deep red hat rested on her head. She read from a little book, mouthing the words, and Molly stood by the fire. She had gotten a bit cold by the window, and the warmth gave her an odd courage. The old woman looked up at her, and said, "You want your fortune told, girl?" Her voice was biting, and harsh, but Molly did not feel uneasy.

"You may, if you want to. However, I will not believe what you will tell me."

"Ah, a skeptic! I heard it in your light and untroubled tread as you came."

"Your ears are sensitive then."

"Aye, and my eyes and brain as well. I need them for people like you, who doubt my art. Why don't you tremble, and turn pale, and consult me with an open heart?"

"I'm not ill, nor cold, nor silly."

"Yes you are. You are ill because love has passed you by, and cold because you are lonely, so lonely, and you are silly because you cannot muster the courage to get what you desire." She took a long drag from the pipe in her gnarled hand.

"You might say that to thousands, millions of people."

"I say it to you because it is true, and I doubt there is anyone else in England as ill and cold and silly as you, in just that way. Happiness is within your grasp, within easy reach, and yet you cannot reach it. The ingredients are laid out, yet you do not combine them."

"If you are as astute as you say, then you must know that I'm not good at solving riddles and enigmas."

The woman laughed. "I will speak more plainly if you give me your palm and a shilling."

Molly reached into her pocket for the coin and held both out to the woman. She slid the coin in a purse, but clucked when she studied Molly's palm. "It is too smooth, too few lines. I cannot read it. But, if you will permit me to scan your features, your fortune may be divined that way."

Molly often read faces, and so she replied, "I may have more faith if you do."

"Kneel before me by the fire." Molly did so. Like a changing kaleidoscope, the woman changed the subject as her hands brushed across her face and hair. "Each evening, you sit and read while great men and ladies flit around you. But you are separate from them. What do you think about in your spare time?"

"I wish to become a doctor." Molly felt as though she were falling asleep, her words coming before she had consciously thought of them.

"A doctor, eh? You read medical journals every night in your window seat. I know your habits, girl."

"You have talked to the servants, then." One hand drifted down Molly's cheek and lifted her chin so that her head was at a slight angle.

"You think yourself astute! It may be true that I know one member of the staff, Mary Morstan." Molly stiffened, and the woman continued while her hand moved from her chin to her forehead, "But you need not be concerned with her. She is a good woman, and true. But as I was saying, do you never pay attention to the fine people about you?"

"Sometimes they interest me."

"About what do they talk?"

"Trades, people; sometimes marriage."

"Does such conversation interest you, with the gentlemen about?"

"No, they are rather old for me, and I have not talked with a single one."

"Surely not!" The woman pulled her hand away from Molly's face and back into her cloak. "What about Mr. Holmes? Is he not here?"

"He has ridden out to Millcoat for the day, and he may be back later tonight or tomorrow. But I don't understand what you are trying to imply."

"Isn't it obvious? Has not the household whispered and discussed the match of Mr. Holmes and the beautiful Irene Adler? He has been privy to many of Miss Adler's affections and smiles."

Molly shook her head as if she were trying to come out of a strange dream. The whole situation was uncanny. "Molly, for your name is Molly, have you seen how Mr. Holmes looks at Miss Adler? Have you seen gratitude in his eyes for Miss Adler's ministrations? Have you seen his love?"

Molly remained quiet, lest she say something she would regret. But she could not recall gratitude or love in Sherlock, she was sure of it. "I cannot recall; you know more about them than I."

"Miss Adler would do well by this match, as Mrs. Holmes' estate and fortune is immense. However, when I said something to this point just half an hour ago, she suddenly looked rather disappointed. He had better be careful, as another suitor might steal her away from him."

Molly grew impatient, and the warmth of the fire against her back and side made her bold. "I came for my fortune, not Sherlock's."

The woman studied her for a second, then said, "You might be happy, if you could just realize how close you are to happiness. Duty holds you back, and your own shyness and propriety. You have a quick mind, nimble fingers; there is no doubt in my mind that someone like you is destined for something great." With each passing word, the voice changed, morphing into one almost familiar. "You have great kindness, and a heart that longs to be free from loneliness and find somewhere where you can belong. You long for home."

Molly rose from her knees as she recognized the voice at last. "Sherlock?"

"Help me off with this disguise, Molly." He threw back his hat, and revealed a face painted and marked with lines of age, quickly wiped away on a handkerchief.

"What a strange prank." Molly couldn't help but smile.

"But good nonetheless. How did you like it?" His face was the happiest Molly had ever seen it, and he smiled easily.

"It must have convinced the other two, but it did not trick me."

He laughed. "What gave it away to you?"

"You just seemed different than a common gypsy, too concerned with drawing me out, and willing to say anything to make me talk."

"There's always something. Tell me, what are the others doing?"

"Discussing what you told them, to be sure."

"I wanted to give them a bit of sport." He deftly folded his disguise and put the bundle by the door. "Has anything else happened?"

Molly remembered the strange man. "A man claiming to be your brother came tonight."

Before Molly's eyes, Sherlock's entire body stiffened and all traces of merriment were gone from his face. "What did he look like?"

"He was tall, slightly fat, and his eyes were very cold."

Sherlock's hand reached out and took hers, holding it for several minutes as he stood in silence and thought. He finally said, "Molly, would you do something for me?"

"Anything, sir."

"Go to the parlor and see what Mycroft, my brother, is doing, then come back here." He reluctantly let go of her hand, and Molly left the room. She found them in the parlor as before, eating a late supper, and Mycroft was by himself. The rest of the party were in the same state as Molly had left them. She went back to Sherlock, who now sat by the fire with his hands clasped underneath his chin.

"They are eating dinner, Mycroft among them. He stands apart from the rest of them."

"And the others, are they different, as if they heard something odd?"

"Not that I can tell. They are just as gay as before."

He looked up at her, his eyes trying to divine something about her. "Molly, if they all came in and reviled me, would you do the same?"

"No, I would stand by you as a friend, for I believe I am your friend."

"And if they sneered at me, and banned me, and shunned you for associating with me, would you do the same?"

"Nothing those people can say or do can make me hate you, Sherlock. I don't have any great love for them anyways."

Sherlock was quiet for a moment before saying, "Thank you. For everything, Molly. I have one last task for you. Would you tell my brother," he spat the word, "that I will meet with him here?"

"Certainly, sir." Molly did as he instructed, and later, as she went to bed, she saw a grim-faced Sherlock showing Mycroft Holmes a room for the night.


	9. Chapter 9

Molly woke up in the middle of the night facing her small window. A full moon shone through her window and it was very beautiful. Belle lune. Just as Molly's eyes were about to close in sleep again, she started and froze as a scream filled the air, coming from the room just above hers. Shivers ran down Molly's spine and her heart began to pound. Whoever made that scream had to be in great pain, as it sounded more animal than human. Molly remained fixed and unable to move as the thuds and groans of a violent struggle shook dust from the ceiling. A voice cried out, "Help! My God, Sherlock, help!"

Two doors slammed closed, and two pairs of feet ran up the hallway towards the stairs to the third floor. Molly heard Sherlock spit, "Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side, and you would do well to remember that," as he went, and all was still and quiet again for just a second before doors opened and people cried, "What has happened?" and "Robbers, I'm sure of it!" and "Should we run?"

Molly willed her body to move again, and slipped quietly into the hallway. All were dressed in night clothes, and John, Stamford, and Lestrade tried to reassure the three Adler women as they cried out, "What is going on?" The women, even Irene, were rather hysterical, but Molly kept her panic and concern hidden. None of the servants had come, as they slept on the other side of the house, and Adele slept like a rock. The tension grew until it got to the point where John reached into his dressing gown pocket and withdrew a long revolver.

At last, a figure descended the stairs, and as Sherlock was seen, the women ran to embrace him. Sherlock smiled, but it did not reach his dark eyes, and threw off the women, saying, "Nothing is wrong, ladies. A servant had a nightmare, that is all. Go back to bed."

John said, "Are you sure? It didn't sound much like a nightmare."

"I am certain, John. There is nothing to fear."

As the group retreated back to their respective rooms, Molly went back into her bedroom. She doubted Sherlock's words, and decided to dress, in case her assistance would be needed. She did not turn on her light, but the light from the moon was good enough to dress by. As she braided her hair, she looked at her face in the mirror, and it was as ashy pale as the moon. She pulled a chair to the window and looked out on the snow-covered landscape. Just as she was about to go lie down, dressed as she was, a knock sounded at her door.

Molly whispered, "What do you need?"

Sherlock opened her door and said, "You." He ran a hand through his curls, then said, "I see you've dressed. Do you have a sponge and smelling salts?"

"Yes," Molly went to her dresser to retrieve the items.

"I know of your ambition to become a doctor. Are you afraid of blood?"

"I believe not, Sherlock."

Sherlock took her hand and said, "Steady as a rock. Come this way, and tread silently." Molly's slippers made no sound on the wooden floor. They ascended the stairs, and Sherlock held back a tapestry to expose a small black door, which he unlocked. The door opened to reveal a room with a small bed and another door on the other side of the room. From behind that door, Molly could hear growls and snarls, as if a rabid animal were behind it. Facing them, Mycroft sat in a wooden chair, his clothing, once immaculate, was now torn and bloody. His face was already pale, but he looked like a corpse in the low light. Sherlock went over to his brother and ripped back a bandage to reveal a wounded shoulder that dripped blood rather quickly down his arm. Sherlock grabbed a white basin full of water and said, "You need to keep this wound clean. Wash it every few minutes, and if he starts to fall unconscious, use the smelling salts to revive him. Got it?"

"Yes."

"I'll go to get the doctor. I should be back in a few hours."

"What about John Watson? He's a doctor."

Sherlock looked at her sternly and grabbed her by the shoulders. "I don't want him involved in this. If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll throw you out of the house. And," he looked between her and Mycroft, "I forbid the both of you to talk."

Mycroft coughed and said, "You need not threaten me into silence, brother mine."

Sherlock released her. Molly sat on the bed and wiped away the blood from the wound, and as she did, Sherlock nodded and left the room. Molly could feel Mycroft's eyes on her. She looked up when she heard a slap and the snarls ended with a gurgle. The only sound was that of the red-tinged water sloshing in the basin as she wet the crimson sponge.

Molly felt Mycroft go slightly limp, and used the smelling salts. This went on for a while, until Molly remembered something from one of the medical texts she had read. Mycroft's wound was a deep cut into the flesh of his shoulder, but the edges weren't straight, as they should be if the skin had been sliced. The edges were jagged and uneven, and Molly could see teeth marks. Whatever had attacked the man, it had bitten as well as cut him.

The waiting, the silence, the water becoming redder and redder all heightened Molly's fear, and the hand not sponging blood trembled. What horror lived in this house, enough for Sherlock to protect it, even though it threatened both him and his household? Molly did not know. Sherlock was an odd man, but not unfeeling, no matter how hard he tried to hide it; he loves Irene Adler, and John is his closest friend. Why would he hate his brother so, and fear for some sort of discovery? Molly mulled over that, as well as what she knew about Mary Morstan.

As Mycroft jerked his head at a glass of water and Molly held it up to his lips, the door opened, and Sherlock and the country doctor Carter came into the room. "He's here, Carter."

Carter strode over to Mycroft and examined his shoulder. "He wouldn't have lost as much blood if I'd been here sooner, but he'll be alright." He took a bandage from his black medical bag and started to dress and wrap the wound. He paused for a second, then looked up at Sherlock. "There have been teeth here." His voice was quiet, but it conveyed horror and disgust in equal parts.

Mycroft croaked, "She bit me after I got the knife from her, and tried to suck my blood."

Sherlock glared, "Enough of that now." He turned to Molly and said, "Go downstairs and get a dress shirt from my room and Mycroft's coat and bag, as well as your cloak and mine. Quickly now." Molly ran to do as she was told, and retrieved them all.

When she returned, Mycroft's shoulder had been bandaged sufficiently and the bloody rags he had been wearing cast onto the floor. He was helped by Carter and Sherlock into the shirt and coat, and Sherlock muttered, "Haste, haste." The morning was coming fast. He grabbed Mycroft's bag and handed it to Molly after she fastened her cloak. "Carry that down, we'll help him. Is anyone about?"

"Not that I heard; the house is quiet."

"Good." He and Carter helped Mycroft up from his seat, and the four of them managed to get downstairs without waking anyone. As Carter got Mycroft into his coach and Molly relinquished the bag, Mycroft said, "Goodbye, Sherlock. Let us meet on better terms next time." The coach drove off, leaving Sherlock and Molly standing outside Thornfield in the snow.

Molly turned to leave, as the early morning was cold, but Sherlock said, "Molly, stay a bit."

"Alright." Sherlock walked toward the orchard, and he brushed off a bench by the gardens, hidden slightly by a tree. He motioned for her to sit beside him, and she did.

"Wouldn't you agree that it is better out here than in that house?"

"I rather like Thornfield, and it is cold out here."

"If you could see it the way I do, you would despise it, Molly. It is a burden and a prison I cannot escape. But out here," he gestured to the wintry landscape, "I am free to do as I wish." He was silent for a minute, then said, "The sunrise is fine this morning." It was indeed, all pinks and yellows and blues, contrasting sharply with the horror of the previous night. "It has been a strange night."

"It has."

"You look paler than you did earlier."

The memories of the previous night came flooding back to Molly's mind, and she felt rather sick. She managed to choke out, "I was afraid of the beast in the other room," as she stared at her knees, ashamed of her weakness and fear.

Sherlock hesitated for just a split second before he took her hands in his and squeezed them gently. "You need not have feared; the menace was well contained by then, and I would not put you in such danger, Molly, I swear." He put his hand under her chin and lifted it so she looked him in the eye. "I would never do that to you, Molly Eyre." His words were comforting, and Molly felt herself relax.

"What about Mary Morstan?"

"She is alright, Molly. I will speak with her, and everything will be fine."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Molly's hands still in Sherlock's as the sun rose a little higher. Sherlock broke the silence and said, "Molly, after what you have been through, you deserve to know why I needed such secrecy. I will not tell you exactly why, but I will give you a story, that you may interpret as you wish."

Molly nodded, and he continued, "Imagine that instead of being a sweet girl, you were born a boy, intelligent and mischievous, and you had everything you ever wanted. Now imagine that you have grown up, and traveled, and have made a terrible error. I do not mean a crime, Molly, but an error that will last you the rest of your life. It haunts you everywhere you go, poisons your thoughts and associations, and so you hide from the world. Hide your mistake as best you can, and find your calling in deduction and analysis. You manage to be happy, or at least, not as depressed as you once were. One of the few remaining reminders of your error is your brother, who was partly responsible and now feels driven by duty to check up on you." He scowled, and was silent for a few minutes, until he began to smile. "Now imagine, if you can, that after years of being alone, you have found someone. A friend. She is strikingly intelligent and beautiful, and you begin to believe that you are no longer cursed by fate. You fall in love, and finally, after all these years, you realize that you can find true happiness, with her. To do this, you simply must ignore a silly human custom, and then you will be free."

Molly could feel her heart breaking as she heard his words. His heart belonged to Irene, and if it made him that happy, she should find some semblance of happiness as well. "I guess, not knowing your error, that in your situation, I might do the same."

He smiled once more. "Irene is beautiful, is she not? I am glad you understand. I've lately come to realize the importance of having friends, and I consider you one of mine. As such a friend, will you keep me company at times? You are much nicer to talk to than John or my skull."

"Skull?"

"Yes, the one on my mantle in London. I may need your assistance the night before my wedding; I would like you to sit up with me and keep me company, I doubt I'll be able to sleep."

Though it pained Molly to smile, she replied, "Alright, Sherlock."

Molly shivered, but not from the cold. Sherlock helped her up, and they went back inside.


	10. Chapter 10

Molly slept through most of the morning to make up for the sleep she had lost and the stress she had endured. When she rose again, it was lunch time. Adele was frantic, as Christmas was just one short day away. Molly rose and straightened her dress. Her hair needed a touch of work, and as she put it back into a bun, she heard voices in the corridor. Peeking through the keyhole, she saw John and Mary.

Mary said, "I can't talk about it! Don't question me further."

John took her by the wrist, gently, and said, "I just want to know why you suddenly don't want to see me anymore."

Mary's face crumpled a bit, and she said, "It's not that, John. Never think that."

John stepped forward so his hand cradled her cheek. "Then why can't I be with the woman I love? I mean, it's only been four days, but I feel as though I've known you for so much longer."

"I feel the same way." She closed her eyes and swayed slightly. "I wish I could tell you, but it's not my secret to keep."

"Then what can I do, Mary? I don't want to loose you."

Mary opened her eyes and kissed him. "When you go back to London, write me letters and I'll send you mine."

"It would be my pleasure, Miss Morstan." They kissed again, and afterwards Mary ascended the stairs. John stood looking after her for a minute, then sighed and went downstairs.

Molly had no idea what to make of the enigmatic Mary Morstan.

* * *

Everyone gathered in the parlor after lunch, and the company was gifted with performances by Irene and Sherlock. Eliza and Adele did a few songs each, but Irene's fine voice and Sherlock's violin were perfectly matched. Molly read as usual, a measure that was part of her effort to stop loving Sherlock. Easier said than done.

Preparations were being made for them to go to the church in Millcoat for the Christmas Eve service, and after dinner, the women went upstairs to change into finer clothing. Molly no longer read, but sat in the window seat with Adele, ready to go. Irene was stunning in a white and red dress, and when she came down to the parlor, Sherlock couldn't take his eyes off her. He smiled and said, "My dear Irene, you look radiant tonight."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes. How soon until we depart?"

"A half hour. I will not be going with you."

"Why ever not?" Irene looked a touch disappointed.

"I am not known to blindly follow tradition."

"I had been looking forward to going with you. I will be very put out if you don't." Her mouth puckered in a pout.

He smiled and held his hand out to her. "In that case, I would hate for one of my guests to be unhappy." She took it, and they walked towards the door.

Adele giggled and said, "Uncle John helped me put up mistletoe earlier!"

Sherlock and Irene stopped and looked up to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging under the door. Irene raised her eyebrows and said, "Will you try to defy this tradition as well?"

"Not on your life." They kissed under the mistletoe.

* * *

Molly rode to the church in the carriage with John, Lestrade, Adele, and Stamford, while Sherlock rode with the Adler women. Mrs. Hudson did not go, as her hip was acting up again, and she needed the rest. When they got to the church, Molly ended up being seated between Sherlock and Adele, with Irene on Sherlock's other side. Every so often, Irene would glare daggers at Molly, just to make sure Molly didn't try anything. Like Molly could, or would, being in a church on Christmas Eve.

The village choir sang, and the children formed a nativity scene, complete with a squealing baby in the manger, and the Scripture was read. The service ended after a few carols, and they all left the church. Outside, it was snowing, and Adele cried, "Snow! Tres magnifique!"

Molly couldn't help but smile as Adele stuck her tongue out to taste the flakes. They got in their carriages, and were soon back to Thornfield Hall. Molly helped put Adele to bed, no easy feat, given how excited she was, but Molly and Sophia managed it. Molly finally undressed and went to bed, almost forgetting the drawing of the two trees she had made for Sherlock. She put on a dressing gown, and when she heard the final door close in the hall, she stepped out quietly into the hallway and slipped the paper underneath Sherlock's door. Suddenly nervous, she fled back into her own room and climbed in bed. She heard the sound of a door opening, and then a beat later, close again.

* * *

When Molly woke, Christmas had come at last. With a grin, she dressed and went downstairs, where Adele was peeking at the presents underneath the tree. "Look, Molly! That big one is for me!"

"Wait until the others come down, Adele, and then you can pass out and open your presents."

"But I want to open them now!"

"It's better to open presents when other people are there too. Then they can see how much you liked it and you don't have to wait to thank them."

Adele sighed and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the tree. She looked rather like a large doll, with her curls and fancy dress. Thankfully, Adele did not have to wait long. Irene and Eliza came down in less than five minutes, and went straight to the tree and examined the presents. About fifteen minutes later, Lestrade, Stamford, John, Mrs. Adler, and finally Sherlock were all gathered around the Christmas tree. As some of the servants brought in glasses of eggnog, Adele stood up and said, "Can I please open my presents? Please, please, please!"

Sherlock laughed, and said, "Yes, Adele. You've been very patient."

Adele ran to the pile and pulled out a large box. She tore off the red wrapping paper, and cried, "It's a dress!" She held it up to her body. It was red and frilly, with white stripes. "Can I put it on? Please!"

Sherlock nodded, and Adele ran from the room. "I was able to extrapolate, based on her age and previous growth patterns, the size of a dress. Molly," he turned to her for the first time that day, "I had it made a little on the larger side, so it can be modified to fit better, and adjust as she grows."

"Very smart, sir. I can make any necessary modifications."

Irene hovered by the tree, and took off several presents. "This one's for you, Sherlock, from me," Irene said as she passed Sherlock a small box. She gave her mother and her sister presents as well. Sherlock opened the box to find a gold pocket-watch. "I had it engraved with our names, and my picture is in the top of the watch." Sherlock showed the back of the watch to the room, and in flowing script, it said, "To Sherlock Holmes, from Irene Adler".

Sherlock smiled and said, "Thank you, Irene. Now wherever I go, you will be with me."

Irene replied, "There's no where else I'd rather be."

John scowled, "That's enough, lovebirds. Let's get on with the rest of the presents." He let out a huge yawn.

Sherlock grabbed three envelopes and gave them to John, Lestrade, and Stamford. "You should appreciate these."

The men opened their envelopes and Lestrade guffawed as he read the card aloud. "Present this card to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and he will stop whatever rude deduction or comment he is making at the time!"

John sighed and said, "He gave me one of these for my birthday and Christmas last year. Watch out for the expiration date, and it's only good once."

"Still, it's better than nothing," Stamford said. "I think it's the most considerate thing he's ever given me."

Sherlock said, "Besides that tip about waitress who was actually a,"

Stamford interrupted and held up his card. "I thought we weren't going to talk about that, mate!"

Sherlock took the card from Stamford and put it in his pocket. "Mum's the word."

"That's how he does it, Stamford," John said dryly, "whenever he gives someone one of these cards, he tries to insult them as soon as possible so they loose their cards."

"John should know. He lost his first one in under a minute." Sherlock said with a grin.

Irene asked, "Then why didn't I get one?"

"You don't need one. You can always get me to shut up."

"That's comforting." The men rolled their eyes.

Adele came back into the room, and flounced around in her pretty new dress. As Adele's presents were separated from the adults', she went to work opening boxes and bags that contained toys like a doll house and a music box complete with a spinning ballerina. Of the adult's gifts, only a few were left. Stamford gave a shawl, handmade by his mother, to Eliza, leaving just two presents underneath the tree, a box and a long, thin tube. Sherlock got up and handed the box to Irene. She opened it to find a red rose encased in clear glass. She held it up to the light, and everyone oohed and ahhed at the beautiful gift that scattered light and seemed to glow.

Sherlock cleared his throat and said, "I thought you only deserved a gift as beautiful as you are."

Managing to take her eyes off the rose for a second, Irene replied, "It's lovely, Sherlock."

Without taking his eyes off Irene, he passed the final gift to Molly, and she opened the end of the long tube to reveal a print of an anatomically correct heart, complete with little annotations and labels on the various parts as well as small cross-sections and details. Molly had read descriptions on the workings of the human heart, and seen several diagrams, but none had been as complete as this. She didn't know what to say, so she said very quietly, "Thank you, Sherlock. It's beautiful."

"I thought you would like it, and it matches what you gave me."

Molly froze. She knew that he would easily know she had given him the drawing, but she had not expected him to talk about it in front of Irene and the others. "What?"

"Let me go upstairs and retrieve it." As he left, all eyes fell on her, and she felt her cheeks grow hot.

In less than a minute, Sherlock returned with her drawing of the two trees in hand. He showed it to the crowd, saying, "Someone slipped a drawing underneath my door last night, but it was obvious who the artist was, given the style and choice of subject. Of the people in the house who draw, Irene tends toward portraits and still lifes, not landscape or trees, and Eliza prefers watercolors to pencil. Also, given the small mistakes and errors, it is clear that this was done by someone who has not had great instruction in art, which further rules out Irene and Eliza. That left only Molly, whose hand I recognized from a perusal of her portfolio. And the final proof is the small signature of M.E. in the bottom right corner, and no one else in this house has the initials M.E.!" He had rapidly gone through his deductions as Molly's drawing was passed around.

Under the others' gazes, her drawing looked small and rough, an embarrassment rather than something to be proud of. Molly felt her eyes brimming with tears and got up. "There was a reason why I did that, Sherlock. So you wouldn't ridicule me in front of everyone, just so you can look brilliant. You say such horrible things and you don't realize how much harm your words can do. You may be a great detective and I'm just a poor governess, but I'm still a human being and I deserve not be insulted to my face."

Molly turned her back on Sherlock and walked out of the room, clenching her teeth and keeping her mouth shut so she wouldn't cry in front of all of them or let them hear her sobs. She went upstairs and closed her bedroom door, throwing her body on the bed and covering her face with her pillow to muffle her crying. All she could think about was how cruel it had been for him to compare her work with Irene and Eliza, who had probably been tutored by the best, and she had just six years at a charity school. She had hoped he would recognize that she had been studying those trees when they had first met so many months before. But evidently it wasn't important enough for him to remember.

After a few minutes, Molly heard someone knock at her door and she cried, "Go away! I don't want to talk to you, Sherlock!"

Instead of Sherlock's voice, Molly heard Mary say, "What's Sherlock done now?"

Molly started sobbing again, and Mary came in, closed the door, and knelt on the bed. She pulled Molly's head into her lap, stroking Molly's face and hair in an attempt to calm her. It was a great shock to Molly that this woman, who Molly associated violence and fear, could be really comforting, and Molly wasn't scared being alone with her. It seemed nearly impossible to reconcile the monster with this kind, if eccentric, woman.

As soon as Molly could speak again, she said, "I, I p-put a drawing under his d-door for a, a Christmas present, and he m-made fun of it and me in f-front of everyone."

Mary's hand stopped for a second, then she said, "I've known Sherlock for five years, and that man has made me want to cry with his horrid deductions on several occasions. I heard a bit of what you said, and I think you got through to him."

Molly finally stopped sobbing and now only hiccuped occasionally. Mary knew exactly how to calm her down. "But how could he not know that would hurt me?"

"He doesn't often think of other people and how he affects them. Maybe Irene Adler can help him with that."

Molly's heart felt like it wanted to break, but Molly managed to pull herself together at last and think about the consequences of what she had said. She had criticized him in front of all his guests. "Oh God, do you think he'll sack me?"

Mary laughed. "I doubt it. He's not unfair, just unkind at times."

Molly sat up and wiped the remaining tears from her face. "Thank you, Mary."

"It was my pleasure." Mary left the room, and Molly lay on her bed, trying to figure out what she should do. At last she decided to curl up on her bed and read until he came or sent a message. After about a half hour, Molly heard footsteps in the hallway, and something was pushed under her door. She didn't make a sound, or move from the bed, and after a minute the person walked away. Only then did Molly go to the door to retrieve the paper.

Molly had nearly forgotten about the heart, Sherlock's gift to her, in her anger and hurt, and had left it downstairs. She turned it over, and Sherlock had written a note on the back:

_Molly,_

_I am not a kind man, and I realize that sometimes my deductions hurt the people around me. I do not often apologize, but I am sorry I hurt you and I hope you can forgive me for the pain I caused you. If you do not trust me with your drawing, I will gladly give it back. _

_Sherlock_

_P.S.: Those trees are lovely in the spring, but not as beautiful as in your drawing._

Molly put the heart drawing inside her portfolio to keep it safe, and found the strength to smile as she went downstairs for lunch.


	11. Chapter 11

**I've been rereading Jane Eyre a lot, and I put a couple Jane Eyre's in there instead of Molly when I first upload this chapter. Ugh. I think I've found them all. I won't be able to update for more than a week, which makes me sad. :(**

* * *

Two more days passed without major incidents, and the guests were set to leave Thornfield in about a week. Molly was glad they would be going soon, but as Sherlock was likely to leave with them, the parting would be bittersweet. The only strange thing was instead of ignoring Molly, Irene sometimes stared at her like some sort of interesting bird. The unwanted attention was disconcerting, but Molly did not think much of it.

Molly was up in the schoolroom with Adele working on arithmetic when Mrs. Hudson peeked in and said, "Molly, dear, there's a man come here asking about you."

"I'll be right down." Mrs. Hudson left, and Molly told Adele, "Now try and work problems 14 and 15 while I'm gone."

Adele wrote down the problems and said, "Yes, Miss Molly."

Molly went down the stairs, and saw a short man with a face she vaguely recognized, but couldn't quite put a name to.

He said, "Miss Eyre, I'm Leaven, a coachman from Gateshead. You probably don't remember me but,"

Molly interrupted with a smile. "Of course I remember you, Robert! You used to give me rides on Georgiana's pony. How is Bessie?"

Robert relaxed a bit and said, "Bessie is doing well, Miss Molly. She had a daughter just two months past, and both mother and child are healthy as Miss Georgiana's pony."

"That's wonderful, Robert. But why have you come such a long way to see me? Is the family well?"

"Unfortunately, no." Molly noticed he was dressed entirely in black for the first time. "I'm terribly sorry to inform you that your cousin, John Hooper, has died in his apartments in London."

"How horrible! What happened?"

"You see, Miss Molly, Mr. John has been wild these past few years, getting kicked out of university and all, and he had not been doing well studying law with his uncle."

"Bessie told me he had been doing poorly when she visited me at St. Bart's."

Robert said, "He could hardly have done worse! He associated with the lowest and meanest of men and women, who stole his money, his health, and much of his estate. He got into debt and was jailed twice, and Mrs. Hooper bailed him out each time. But he just went back to his old friends, who tricked him in the most demeaning ways. Mr. John was never the sharpest knife in the drawer. About a month ago, he had the nerve to show up at Gateshead and demand his inheritance from his mother, whose fortune was already deeply diminished by his antics. She refused him any more money, and the next news we had was that he was dead. The coroners in London suspect that it was suicide."

Molly felt that nothing she could say would adequately match the situation, and she remained silent.

Robert continued, "Mrs. Hooper has been ill a long time, with so much stress about Mr. John and possibly going into poverty and loosing the Hooper reputation. The news about Mr. John brought on a stroke, and she has been very ill since, with little hope of recovery. For a few days she could not speak, and even when she did, you couldn't understand what she was trying to say. A week ago, Bessie figured it out that she was saying, "Molly! Molly! Bring me Molly Eyre!" Georgiana and Eliza refused to contact you, but in the past few days, she has been very insistent, and so I was sent. If you go, I should like to start off early tomorrow morning, if I may stay the night here."

Molly thought for a minute, then said, "I think I should go to her. I'll be ready by then, Robert." Molly directed him to the servant's hall, where he would be taken care of, and then set about to preparations. First and foremost, Molly would need Sherlock's approval for such a trip, as well as an advance on her wages, as she had only ten shillings to her name.

She followed the sound of violin and piano to the parlor, where Sherlock was playing a duet with Irene. As the last strain of music faded, Molly screwed up her courage and went right over to Sherlock. "I need to speak with you, sir."

Sherlock nodded and said to John, "Keep the good ladies company while I'm away, would you?"

Sherlock and Molly left the parlor and went out into the hall. "What's this about, Molly?"

Molly took a deep breath. "My aunt is very ill and asks for me; I should like to visit her before she dies."

"Where is this aunt, and who is she?"

"Mrs. Margaret Hooper. She lives about a hundred miles away from Thornfield."

Sherlock looked puzzled. "This is the same aunt who despised you as a child. Why should you want to visit her, after her cruelty towards you, and endure such a long journey?"

"She is one of the few people I consider my family, and it would be wrong to not go to her as she lies in her death-bed."

Sherlock was silent for a minute. "Hooper, Hooper... I've heard the name before, a magistrate, I believe."

"That was my uncle, dead for nearly 20 years, by now."

"And he had several children, a wasteful rascal named John Hooper, I believe, and Georgiana, who was much admired a season or two back."

"Yes, they are my cousins, along with Eliza Hooper. John is dead, believed to have committed suicide, and his death, along with stress he inflicted, brought on a stroke."

"She may be dead before you get to her."

"If I am too late, then so be it. But if I can give her some degree of peace in her final days, then I would not consider my journey wasted."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Not long, I hope."

"Promise me only a week."

Molly sighed. "I do not like to break promises, Sherlock, and I might have to in this case."

"Fine." Sherlock was quiet, then said, "Will they try to make you stay permanently?"

"No sir, and even if they did, I would not stay with them. We have grown apart, and are too different to be happy together."

"How did you receive this news?"

"My cousins sent the coachman to fetch me, and I have known him for as long as I can remember."

Sherlock seemed mollified by her answers, although he still frowned a bit at her leaving. "You must need money, as you will be traveling, and you have not yet been paid. How much do you have, Molly?"

Molly got out her small purse, and showed him her ten shillings. He laughed, then Sherlock produced a pocketbook, and took out a note and handed it to Molly. "This should be more than sufficient for your needs."

Molly looked at the note, then at Sherlock, and back again. It was a fifty pound note, and Molly had never seen or held so much money in her life. "But sir, I am only owed 15 pounds!" She tried to give it back, but Sherlock refused to take it at first.

Sherlock thought for a minute, then said, "I guess so. If I gave you that much, you might never return. Give it back to me." He handed her another note, this one for ten pounds.

"You still owe me five pounds."

"Come back to me, and I'll give you the rest," he said with a smile.

Molly decided to ask something else. "Sherlock, there is another matter of business I would like to address."

"What is it?"

"It has been clear that you and Miss Adler are soon to be married, and in that case, Adele should go away to school." Molly knew that if Sherlock married Irene, it would be in Adele's best interest to go away to school instead of perpetually being under Irene's feet. However, if that happened, Molly would be out of a job.

Sherlock turned serious. "I agree that when I am married, Adele ought to go to a boarding-school, and there is much sense in the suggestion. But what do you plan to do?"

Molly's heart ached to think of it, but Molly said, "Then I should find another situation."

"How do you plan to do that? Through your cousins?"

"No, I doubt they would help me. I will have to advertise."

Sherlock suddenly looked angry. "Who knows what kind of family you will find if you advertise! I will not have you do that, Molly. Give me back some of that money."

"No sir!" Molly hid the money and her purse behind her back.

"But I have need of it!" Sherlock took a step forward, and Molly turned and raced up the stairs. She had always been light on her feet, and she outran Sherlock as she ran upstairs to her bedroom. Once inside, she closed the door and put her lips to the keyhole.

"Sherlock, I promise I will come back."

Sherlock sighed from outside her door and said, "And I promise that once you get back and the wedding is arranged, I will find a boarding school for Adele and another situation for you."

"Very good, sir."

"Will you be down in the parlor after dinner?"

"No, I will be packing and making preparations."

"Then I guess this is goodbye."

Molly opened her door (after she had hid the money, of course) and said, "Goodbye for now, Sherlock."

"Goodbye, Molly Eyre." There was that strange look in his eyes for just a second, then he turned and was gone.

* * *

Molly packed her things easily into her suitcase, and carried it downstairs late into the evening, to be ready for their departure early the following morning. Molly heard the click of shoes behind her, and turned to see Irene Adler standing behind her. "I hear you're leaving tomorrow."

"Yes. My dying aunt wishes to see me." Molly stiffened as Irene sauntered a few steps towards her.

Irene looked at her for a minute before saying, "I probably won't see you again before I leave, but I wanted to remind you of something."

"What?"

Irene ran her hand from the top of Molly's shoulder and down the length of her arm to her hand. Irene played with Molly's fingers, saying, "I'm a big believer in symbolism, Miss Eyre. A lot of people are. There's even a case to be made for Sherlock." Molly had no idea what the woman was doing, or trying to get at. "Think about it."

"I don't understand."

"Exactly. Mr. Holmes has a talent for manipulation." She smirked. "I should know. But haven't you noticed anything interesting?"

"Interesting, not really, no." Irene's fingers tightened around Molly's.

"I suppose I have to spell it out for you. Mr. Holmes is not a man of tradition, he has said it himself. I had to practically drag him to the church. And yet," she paused, skimming her long nails against the back of Molly's hand, "Of the three presents he gave, only two were actually worth something. The cards were just a gag. My present and yours. Come now, Miss Eyre. Surely the little governess with the big dreams can figure this out."

Molly felt uneasy with the way Irene was talking to her, still condescending, but with something else Molly couldn't identify. "Sherlock gave you a rose in glass, and he gave me a print of a heart."

Irene released Molly's hand and smirked. "Like I said, you can probably figure it out." Irene walked away.

Molly went upstairs and sat on the end of her bed.

Roses were sweet, usually symbolic of love, but they also had thorns.

Sherlock had given her a heart, one that matched his love for science.

To preserve the rose, it had been put in glass, but left on their own, roses fade and wither.

Hearts beat from from birth until death and are totally necessary for life.

Could it be, like Irene was suggesting, that Sherlock had given her his heart?


	12. Chapter 12

**It's great to be back! I've missed writing, but I've had two fantastic weeks at camp, and I hope all of you have had good summers so far.**

**I personally don't like Molly's cousins, and I figure you guys want to cut straight back to the Sherlolly goodness, so I'm making her visit to Mrs. Hooper just one chapter. Okay? Okay. Enjoy!**

* * *

Two days later, Robert and Molly arrived at her old home, Gateshead. It was late at night, and few candles were still lit in the aging mansion's windows. The porter's house by the gates, however, was much brighter. Robert hitched up the horses and helped Molly out of the coach. Molly knocked on the door to the porter's house, and Bessie opened the door and ushered them into the small, but warm and cheerful, cottage.

"Molly! You've come! You look lovely, dear." Bessie kissed Robert, then went to hold her tiny daughter.

"Thank you. How is my aunt?"

"Still living, thank God, but she is fading fast. The doctor says she may only live a few more weeks, at most." Bessie handed her fussing daughter to Robert, who rocked her carefully, and then said, "I've got you a room ready upstairs. Let me get my cloak on, and we'll be off!"

Molly and Bessie waded through the thick drifts of snow to the main house, and with blue fingers, Bessie produced a large key-ring and unlocked the door. Molly did not pause to look at her childhood home, as everything was dark, but it did not look like much had changed in the ten years since she had left it. Bessie motioned for Molly to come upstairs, and Molly lugged her suitcase as quickly as she could. Bessie opened a door, and the bedroom inside was freezing cold. Bessie grimaced and said, "Money for coal has been tight this winter," as she knelt and lit a fire. Molly set her bag on the cold bed. The room was plain, but as she should only be staying here a short time, it would have to do.

"Thanks, Bessie," Molly went over to the small fire and warmed her hands as best she could.

"It's my pleasure. I'm glad you're here. It may placate your poor aunt." Bessie stood up and said with a small smile, "Good night, Molly."

"Good night." Bessie left the room, and Molly felt the bed. It was as chilly as the room, and Molly instead set a chair by the fire. She was tired, but much too cold and excited to be able to sleep right away. Being back in this house was utterly strange. It was well past 1 o'clock in the morning by the time Molly's room and bed were finally warm enough to sleep, and Molly dreamed of a baby, as tiny as Bessie's but with curly black hair, that cried and cried, and Molly could not comfort it. She had been taught, as a child, that to dream of child was a sigh of misfortune to come.

* * *

Molly awoke the next morning and dressed quickly, eager to see how the house compared with her memories of it. She opened her door, and the hall was rather cold in the early-morning light. Molly walked down the hall to get to the stairs, since the dining room was downstairs. Molly paused as she walked past a door that looked identical to the others along the hallway. She placed a hand on the door as a memory overtook her.

_Molly sat cross-legged in the window-seat in the library reading a book with lots of illustrations of pretty birds. With the drapes drawn across the window, Molly felt relatively safe and secure until she heard the voice of her cousin John saying, "Molly! Come out! Where are you?"_

_Molly dared not breathe. _

_Eliza's voice drifted in from the hall. "Check the window seat, she likes to sit there."_

_The drapes were roughly shoved back and Molly was faced by her incensed cousin. Molly did not like to think of how he hit her and pinched her until her arms were bruised, but that one time, Molly fought back. Molly was much quicker to anger as a child. Like a true coward, John had retreated to his mother, blubbering about how Molly had hurt him.  
_

_In punishment, Molly was dragged to the Red Room. Molly was deathly afraid of the Red Room. Her uncle had died in that room. No matter how much she had struggled and cried, they would not let her go or listen to reason. She was left alone in the Red Room for hours, until she became so hysterical that she screamed and fainted dead away. This incident was the first in the chain of events that prompted her leaving Gateshead for St. Bart's._

Molly took her hand away from the door and went down the stairs, still shivering, but not from the cold. As a adult coming back to a place she had known as a child, everything seemed smaller and much less imposing than it had before. The furnishings were all the same, even though a decade had passed. Molly took a deep breath and stepped into the dining room, where her cousins Eliza and Georgiana awaited breakfast.

They greeted her without much emotion, and as a maid brought in some eggs, toast, and bacon, Molly marveled at how they had changed. Eliza, the older sister, was tall and thin and stern, and wore a black dress nearly as plain as Molly's. She kept consulting a little black book throughout the meal. Georgiana, on the other hand, was stout, and her dress was much more comely. She was beautiful, as she had been a pretty child, but her eyes were blank and glassy. Georgiana was talked incessantly to Molly, but it made her seem even more dull.

By the time the three women were done with their meal, Molly was ready to escape her cousins and visit Mrs. Hooper. She found Bessie, who took her upstairs to the sick woman's chamber. A nurse sat by the bed, but at Molly's arrival, she rose so that Molly could be alone with her aunt. Bessie and the nurse left the room.

Molly pulled back the curtains, and Mrs. Hooper lay propped up on pillows. Her face was white and pale, but her eyes were just as cold as ever. She regarded Molly for a long minute without speaking, and then in that harsh voice Molly knew only too well, she said, "Are you Molly Eyre?"

"Yes, Aunt. How are you feeling?"

Mrs. Hooper did not reply, and when Molly tried to hold the hand that lay limp on top of the sheets, she yanked it away and turned her face toward the window. Molly had not expected much love from her aunt, and so the implied rejection did not hurt her. She could not hate her aunt for the way she had treated her because Molly pitied the woman. Even on the brink of death, Mrs. Hooper could not accept her. Molly said, "I have come a long ways to see you, aunt, and I will not leave until you have told me what has been troubling you."

"Have you seen my daughters?"

"Yes."

The ice cold eyes looked at her for just a second while she said, "Tell them that you should stay until I can tell you what it is that weighs on my mind. I can't seem to remember anything these days." Her eyes wandered to the wall in front of the bed, and her voice changed, loosing its edge and softening like that of a child. "Are you Molly Eyre?"

"I am Molly Eyre."

Mrs. Hooper's eyes turned cold again, but they did not recognize Molly, evidently an effect of her illness. "She has been so troublesome to me! What a burden on me and my means! I cannot believe my husband that he would keep the horrid thing after his sister died. He would hold it, and care for it, more so than his own children! It was unseemly. And even when he was sick on his deathbed, he still had it brought to him. What a fool he was! The other children shunned it as I did. It is right that John looks more like me than his father. I was always made of sterner stuff."

At this, Mrs. Hooper turned worried, and she wrung her hands on top of the blankets piled on her. "I do wish he would stop sending me requests for more money! There is no more to be given. We shall become poor at this rate; half the servants have been sent away. And still he keeps asking! He gambles and associates with the strangest of people, and he can never seem to win. Bless his heart! But how are we to get on? Coal is so expensive nowadays. And it breaks my heart to see him this way!" She began to cry, and Bessie and the nurse came back into the room. Molly stood away from the bed as Mrs. Hooper was given a sedative that put her shortly to sleep.

* * *

Molly did not get a chance to speak with her aunt for over a week because she took a turn for the worse and was delirious nearly all of her waking hours. In this time, Molly got to know her cousins better. Eliza and Georgiana were nearly polar opposites, as Eliza scheduled her daily routine down to the minute, while Georgiana lounged around and did as she wished. It was much easier to talk to Georgiana, as she was so forthright, but she began to get on Molly's nerves for chattering all the time. Yes, Adele was talkative, but she at least had something intelligent to say. So when she, Eliza, and Georgiana sat in the drawing room together, Molly usually took out her pens and pencils to sketch. Georgiana requested a landscape from her for her own portfolio, which was not nearly as fine as Molly's, but Eliza did not seem to care much for art, chastising her sister for "wasting time that could be better spent in quiet contemplation or, better yet, silence."

A few days after she arrived, Molly took out a sheet of paper and began to draw a face. She did not pay particular attention to it, nor to Georgiana, who was talking about her season in London and all the magnificent people she had met. The outline of the face was longer than it was wide, a strange, imperfect oval. Such a face needed interesting eyes, eyes with blue and green and gold. To emphasize those eyes, the cheekbones should be prominent. Molly drew absently until she finished with black curls on the figure's head. Eliza looked over and said, "Someone you know?"

Molly had drawn a perfect portrait of Sherlock. She shook her head and said, "No, Eliza, it just took my fancy."

Georgiana stopped talking about all the suitors she had had in London just long enough to say, "What an ugly man! And what a strange face he has! Cousin, you certainly have strange tastes."

Molly did not reply as Georgiana babbled on, but she placed the portrait in her portfolio later, right behind the heart diagram.

* * *

One cold afternoon, Molly sat in the drawing room with one of her books. Georgiana lay asleep on the couch, snoring loudly, and Eliza had gone to the church for a special service. Molly decided to see how her aunt was. Quietly, she rose, set her book down, and climbed the stairs to the second story. She opened the door to the sickroom, and the nurse was not in attendance at the moment. Molly took a seat beside the dying woman and studied her features. Mrs. Hooper's face was drawn and her hand was cold. After a few minutes, she stirred, and said, "Who is there?"

"It is I, Aunt Hooper."

"Who calls me aunt? You are not from my sister's family, and yet you look familiar. You remind me of that Molly Eyre, yes, your face and eyes and features look quite like hers."

Molly did not want to upset her, so she said nothing.

Mrs. Hooper looked on Molly again, and said, "I must be mistaken, though. My mind's playing tricks on me; I scarcely know what is real anymore. I wish to see her, and therefore I did."

In a gentle voice, Molly said, "You are not mistaken, aunt. I am Molly Eyre, and I was sent for. Robert came and fetched me."

Mrs. Hooper relaxed a bit, and said, "I am ill, that much is certain, and I cannot find the strength to move hardly at all. I wish to clear my conscience before I die, and there are just two things that haunt me. You have heard the first, in that I despised you as a child, as I despise you now, though my husband's dying wish was to bring you up as one of his own." She muttered to herself, in an attempt for Molly not to hear, no matter now futile the gesture. "But what if I do recover? How could I stomach the embarrassment and shame?" She closed her eyes and decided something, for she opened them and directed, "Go to my dresser and look under my jewelry-box."

Molly did so, and removed a letter, already opened. She took it out and began to read.

_Mrs. Margaret Hooper,_

_ Would you be so kind as to send me the current address of my niece Molly Eyre? How is she? I wish for her to come and stay with me in London, and as my health is not good, I hope we can settle my affairs. I have no children, and so I will be leaving my estate to her. _

It was signed Julian Eyre, but what struck Molly was that the letter was dated over three years ago. She turned to Mrs. Hooper, and her voice was tight. As far back as she could remember, she had longed for some distant relative to take her away. "Why did you never tell me about this?"

"You were such a disagreeable child. After all that I've been through, it seemed totally unfair that you should get to live in luxury, better than my own children. So I wrote Mr. Eyre and told him that you died in the typhus outbreak at St. Bart's. You can rectify my error, if you so wish. It is beyond my power to stop you now." She grimaced. "Why did you have to be such a thorn in my side? Even as I lay dying, you are constantly on my mind!" She gave in to a coughing fit, and wheezed, "Get me some water."

Molly did so, holding a cup to the woman's lips as she said, "Aunt, I forgive you for what you did. Be at peace." Though she wanted to scream at her aunt for being so cruel to her, it was her duty to help her aunt pass away peacefully.

Mrs. Hooper lifted her head, gathering enough strength to lift an arm and knock the cup from Molly's hand. It shattered on the floor, and as Molly picked up the fragments, the nurse came back in with Bessie, and shooed Molly out of the room. Glad to leave the presence of her aunt, Molly rejoined Eliza and Georgiana in the drawing room.

* * *

When Molly rose the next morning, she was informed by Bessie, along with Eliza and Georgiana, that Mrs. Hooper had fallen into a deep sleep and she had passed away late into the night. Georgiana cried out, "Dear Mama!" before bursting into tears. Eliza was not outwardly affected by the news. None of them had been there to witness her death, nor to prepare her for burial. Georgiana refused to see her mother's body, so Eliza and Molly went. It shocked Molly to see her aunt's once healthy and sturdy frame so emaciated and hollow. Molly looked up at Eliza, whose face contorted for just an instant before it smoothed again. She said in a steady voice, "She was a strong woman, and if not for adversity and trouble, she should have lived a long time." She then turned from her mother's body and Molly left with her, both their eyes dry.

Molly had spent two weeks at Gateshead, but she spent two more after her aunt's passing and funeral to help Eliza and Georgiana pack. The house was to be sold, and the sisters planned to part. Georgiana had been invited to the house of her uncle, while Eliza confided in Molly that she planned to take vows and spend the remainder of her life in prayerful meditation as a nun. Molly helped both sisters pack, as she would most likely never see the two of them again. Years later, Molly discovered that Eliza had gone to a French convent, and Georgiana married an aging gentleman.

By the time everything had been sorted out, Molly was eager to leave Gateshead. She realized that she had never felt at home there, and Thornfield had become her home. She had only been given one week's leave, but she had spent an entire month at Thornfield doing what she could to help out. It was time to come home.


	13. Chapter 13

******I can't believe I have so many followers and reviews! All your encouragement has been awesome. Thank you.**

**I'm praying I got these scenes right! The original passage is pretty hard to follow, but I've done my best and I think it makes sense. Enjoy!**

* * *

Two days later, Molly arrived in Millcoat with her suitcase in tow. It was late in the day, and the February cold bit through her thick cloak. As she had not given Mrs. Hudson a definite date for her return, there was no one to pick her up, but Molly didn't care. It was not so cold for her to be unable to walk the two miles to Thornfield with her suitcase. It was not heavy, and there was only a thin coating of snow on the ground. Molly bought a small pie in Millcoat, and after eating it, she set off.

The frigid air revitalized Molly as she walked in quiet solitude, only pausing to touch the two trees, bare and brown, intertwined by the road. The sun had just set when Molly reached the gates of Thornfield, and the moon rose over the mansion as Molly went in the side door and hung up her cloak. Molly wanted to return quietly to Thornfield, as she had been away long enough.

She picked up her suitcase again, and had reached the hall before a familiar voice said behind her, "Look who has stolen back to Thornfield, cold and blue and pale as a ghost."

Molly started and turned around to see Sherlock standing there. She had expected him to go back to London with Miss Adler and the others, not to stay here for a long period of time. She found she could not speak, so complete was her surprise and the rush of emotion that overcame her. All the feelings that she had been trying to hide forced themselves back into her heart.

He tilted his head to one side, his eyes piercing through her, and said, "Why have you been gone so long? It has been over a month since you left."

Molly managed to clear her throat and say, "I have been with my aunt and cousins. My aunt passed away two weeks ago."

"I was getting worried that they had refused to let you go."

Molly set down her suitcase. "I felt it was my duty to help them as much as I could."

Sherlock frowned and walked in a slow circle around her. "Why did you not send for a carriage to pick you up from Millcoat? You need not have walked all the way here."

"It was not very far, and my suitcase was not heavy; I did not take any of my books with me."

"Still, it would have been no trouble. Come in and have a seat by the fire."

Sherlock led Molly into the drawing room and they both sat. Mrs. Hudson looked up from her knitting and exclaimed, "Molly, dear, you've come back!" She set her knitting aside and gave Molly a warm hug.

Molly smiled and warmed her hands by the fire. "It's good to be back, Mrs. Hudson."

Sherlock was deep in thought when Molly sat back down, so Mrs. Hudson made small talk for a half an hour or so. Molly hadn't realized just how much she missed the motherly old woman. Finally, Mrs. Hudson sighed. "Adele's been ill recently with a head cold, so she won't be fit for lessons for perhaps a week."

"How unfortunate. I hope she soon feels better."

"The pretty little thing has been quite anxious for your return. I'm sure her recovery will be much faster with you here."

They sat in silence, apart from the crackling of the fire, for a few minutes. At last, Molly's eyes began to droop, and she yawned. Her journey the past two days, on top of the walk in the cold, had exhausted her, and she was ready to go to bed. Molly reluctantly stood up.

Sherlock's eyes snapped up to her face and he asked, "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to retire for the night."

His face fell slightly. "Why?"

"I'm rather tired, with traveling and all."

"I'll get your bag, then."

Molly opened her mouth to object, she could easily get it herself, but Sherlock had already risen and strode out the door. She followed him into the hallway, where he grabbed her bag, and up the stairs to her room. He waited while she opened her door, then set her suitcase between them. They stared at each other, separated by Molly's suitcase, on either side of the doorway. His eyes bored into Molly's, and unable to stop herself, she blurted out, "I'm glad to be home!"

Molly could feel her face heating up. Sherlock did not seem much affected, but his eyes slid to the door-frame as he collected his thoughts. He said slowly, "I'm glad you are home. It has been, strange, for you to be absent for so long."

Molly grimaced and said, "Thank you, for having me here. Thornfield has been so lovely."

Sherlock smiled, and replied, "It's been my pleasure, Molly Eyre. Good night."

"Good night." Molly picked up her suitcase with one hand and reached for the door-handle with the other.

* * *

The next afternoon, Molly went to visit Adele. She knocked on the door to Adele's room, and though Adele wasn't feeling well, she was still happy to see Molly. Molly stayed with her an hour or so, telling her all about her cousins and reading with her. Just as they were getting to the high point in the book, someone knocked at the door and Sherlock peeked his head in. Molly was sitting on a chair by Adele's bed, and Adele had been propped up on several pillows. Sherlock came inside and leaned over Adele. "Adele, I'm afraid I need to speak with Miss Molly for a bit, and you need your rest."

"Alright." Adele's face pouted for an instant, but she knew better than to argue.

Sherlock stood up, and Molly patted down the pillows and tucked Adele in. She placed a kiss on Adele's slightly hot forehead, then put her chair back by the wall and followed Sherlock out of the room. Molly closed the door quietly behind her. "What do you need, Sherlock?"

"Not here, Molly. Come down to the lab with me, if you please." He waited for her approval, and there was something in his manner that made Molly hesitant. She wasn't afraid, but certainly intrigued by his request. It didn't seem much like Sherlock to request things, or to speak in private. In the end, Molly let her curiosity get the better of her and she nodded. They walked in silence together down to Sherlock's lab, and after admitting Molly first, Sherlock closed the door behind him.

They stood in awkward silence for a minute or two while Sherlock closed his eyes and remained deep in thought, but he finally said, "Molly, it has come to your attention that I am to be married." Molly nodded. "And I have told you that Adele shall go to school, and another situation will be found for you."

"Yes sir, I have done much thinking on the subject."

"It is for both your sake and my bride's that I do this, you understand."

"I completely understand, Sherlock. I will begin to advertise, then, in the papers."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "I have found, among one of my former clients, a suitable position for you. They will be kind to you, I am sure of that."

Molly struggled to put her feelings into words, without uncovering her true motive for wanting to stay. "I'm not afraid of leaving, sir, just the distance from all I know and hold dear."

"You're a very eligible candidate, as you have no family you are close to and few friends. Adele and Mrs. Hudson will continue on with their lives, as you will learn to. What keeps you rooted here?"

"I should miss Thornfield," Molly cried, "as well as you!" Molly hadn't meant to say that, but she could hardly take it back now. Molly turned her back to Sherlock and went to the sink, splashing a little cold water on her face to calm herself down and hide the traitor tears that threatened her composure. When she turned back to Sherlock, drying her face on her sleeve, it was as if an entire ocean filled the room in the space between them, a literal and figurative separation formed of rank and money and tradition as well as distance that in the span of a few weeks would separate them indefinitely.

Sherlock spoke again, still calm in the face of Molly's suppressed emotions. "Molly, are we friends?"

"I would like to think we are."

"As we are friends, and we face such complete and prolonged separation, we ought to spend the little time we have together wisely. Sometimes, I consider the complexities of our relationship. I believe we have become a little more than friends, do you not agree?"

Molly could not say a word, as she was too shy to voice her feelings, so she simply stood petrified by the door.

Sherlock continued, "Molly, sometimes I feel that there is a string, a force, connecting the two of us, tied to the ribs above my heart, and that the other end is tied to the same place inside you, and when I am away from you, it pulls taut, beckoning me back to where you are. Across such a distance as you will soon travel, I have a hypothesis that it will snap, and that I should start to bleed inside. If that does occur, you would forget me in a fortnight."

Molly did not consciously think to speak, but she cried out, "I should never forget you, as long as I live!" Molly had to struggle to not burst into violent sobs in front of Sherlock, standing so collected on the other side of the small room. With a great effort, Molly bottled up all her despair and grief deep inside her so that she would not show such weakness in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock cocked his head to one side. "Why do you grieve so, to leave Thornfield?"

Molly couldn't hold it in any longer. "Because I love Thornfield, and I love Adele and Mrs. Hudson, and I love that I have been treated so well here, and talked to people with similar minds and ideas, and not been trampled on. And I cannot bear that I must leave you!"

Sherlock put on a puzzled look. "But Molly, why do you think you must leave?"

Molly stared at him incredulous. "You have given me a new situation!"

He took one step toward her. "Why must you leave?"

"Your bride stands between us!"

"My bride? But Molly, I have no bride."

Molly felt like she was explaining something to a child. "You will, in a very short time."

"That," Sherlock said, "I can guarantee."

"Then I have no choice but to leave you!"

"That is a false conclusion, Molly. I swear that you will stay, and I do not break my vows."

Molly felt like crying again. "Sherlock, I have no other choice! I am not a machine, just because I am small and poor, that does not deny me my humanity! Were that I had been pretty, so you would feel as I do, filled with despair that we must part. I speak to you as an equal, as that is how you have treated me in the past, and do so now!"

At this, Sherlock closed the few feet between them and gathered Molly into his arms, pressing his lips to hers in a soft kiss. It felt right to be in his arms this way, and though Molly at first enjoyed the contact, it took her several seconds to realize what he had done. Molly struggled from his grasp as she broke the kiss, feeling overwhelmed. She was closer to the door and yanked it open, running into the corridor and up the stairs to the side entrance, where her cloak was, and she grabbed it as she fled the building. She only briefly paused to tie the cloak around her neck, then fled to her favorite spot in the grounds, the bench-like tree at the border between the gardens and orchard. She sat there, not bothering to further hide as Sherlock would easily be able to follow her footprints.

Molly felt like she was loosing her sanity. Part of her wanted to scream and rail, and the other part wanted to sob. Molly covered her face in her hands, and the cool of the air greatly helped. About a minute later, Molly heard Sherlock's familiar tread, and she steeled herself against his entreaties, wrapping her arms around her body. He found her, dressed in a cloak himself, and said in a soft voice, "Molly, I have not meant to hurt you. Please, listen to me." He went and knelt before her. "I will not toy with you any longer, Molly, and it was wrong of me to do so in the first place. I was never in love with Irene, as both she and I know. I simply used her as part of an experiment. I thought that if you were faced with someone like her, you would become jealous and fall in love with me. I wanted you to love me as much as I love you, ever since the moment we met. I was a fool not to realize that you already loved me. There's always something I miss."

Molly was rocked by the knowledge that Sherlock loved her and couldn't believe it. It had to be another trick. "But it's not possible!"

"Anything is possible, Molly."

"You cannot love me." A tear ran down Molly's cheek, and Sherlock gently wiped it away.

"I do love you, my Molly, my darling. You think that because you are poor, and small, and pale, that I cannot love you. But I am not a handsome man myself."

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

"And besides, Irene would never do experiments with me, or talk to me the way you do, and she does not have your heart. You are kind, and intelligent, and beautiful. And that is all that matters to me. Molly, will you become my wife?"

Molly could not help but laugh. "This cannot be genuine! I don't believe you."

Sherlock froze. "But I am totally sincere! I love you, Molly Eyre."

"You have manipulated me and my emotions enough today. I cannot trust you, or what you say."

Sherlock took Molly's hands in his. "Then believe this, Molly. I spread a rumor that my fortune was not as great as it had been speculated, and with this news, Irene could no longer find me interesting. She only wanted me so she could brag of her conquest and steal my money. A dominatrix is not my type, and she does well to hide her reputation from the general public." He was about to go on, but Molly took her hand out of his and placed one finger on his lips. She looked into his eyes, and in them she could find no deception, no artifice. She took a deep breath.

"Sherlock, do you truly want to marry me?"

"With all my heart, Molly."

"Then I will be your wife, Sherlock Holmes."

"Darling Molly!" Sherlock put his hands on either side of her face and kissed her again. This time, Molly had no desire to run away or be apart from Sherlock, ever. However, as the day was rather cold, Molly began to shiver, and so Sherlock broke the kiss and got up to sit on the bench. He wrapped his arms and cloak around Molly, and she leaned her head against his chest. He said in a low voice, "After all the scoundrels and criminals I have had to work with, and uncover, it is only right that my reward is someone as pure as you. No matter what men may say, I love you and that is all I care about." He looked down at Molly, gently raising her chin so that their eyes could meet. "Are you happy, Molly?"

"Happier than I have ever been."

* * *

They stayed at the bench-tree for a long time, till the sun set and even in Sherlock's warm embrace, Molly began to feel cold. They went inside, hand in hand, and as they came, they passed Mary Morstan in the hall. Molly looked behind her at Mary as they passed, and Mary's face looked stricken, as if she had suffered a great blow.


End file.
